Blurred Identity
by kobez2.0
Summary: Robin is captured by Slade, again, only this time he stays? First attempt at darker material and psychological stuff. Rated for violence, adult themes and language and some descriptive gore and war stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I've been working on this for a long while now, I have a good majority of the fic already typed up so hopefully I will be able to update on a weekly basis. This is a non-slash Robin/Slade centric fic and I'm warning you up front that this fic deals with material that is not appropriate for children under the age of 16, with some chapters being unsuitable for anyone under 18 (or 21 in some areas). There will be mention of sex and a little 'fetish' stuff later on, but for the most part it is pretty tame in that regard, the real reason for the rating is language, voilence, and future scenes involving turture, murder, war and (hopefully) disturbingly accurate descriptions of said events. I will also attempt to show the psychological changes

I'd also like to give a big shout out to my Beta –TheDarkPrinceofSaiyans. Thanks man. This story sucks WAY less now that the Dark Prince has given his 2 cents.

**Disclaimer: **I lay no claim to any of the licensed characters/intellectual properties or lyrics that will kick-off most of the chapters. All of those things belong to other people who are:

A) smarter,

B) more creative than me,

C) actual owners of the licensed properties,

D) Legal owners of the licensed properties, or,

E) Some combination of the other four choices.

That being said, please don't sue me. Not only because it would be rude but also because I am four kinds of broke _and_ in debt, suing me would only result in you losing the money that your lawyer demands as payment for his/her/their services.

**Chapter 1**

_So when I'm gone don't mourn, rejoice_

_Every time you hear the sound of my voice – Eminem_

_

* * *

_

The Teen Titans had started out as a group of five youths who banded together to fight crime and corruption in Jump City. Eventually they expanded to include teen heroes from all over the world, incorporating them into a symbol of hope and a force for justice. But all the parades and praise seemed to belong to another time, to the few remaining Titans as they battled desperately against the Brotherhood of Evil. Their allies, flash frozen into blocks of ice, lining the walls of the hidden compound, making the cathedral look like a twisted trophy room.

Robin cursed to himself as he tried to push through the ache of injuries and encroaching fatigue.

_Dammit! I can't believe I didn't realize that Madame Rouge was disguising herself as Hotspot. Now most of the Titans are frozen and we're losing this battle!_

Robin dove out of the way of an energy beam that lanced through the air and returned fire with the last of his trademark bird shaped shuriken, before sprinting into the nearest group of foes with his staff spinning deftly on the ends of his fingers. The Titans were fighting hard but thanks to both the overwhelming numbers and meticulous planning on the part of the brotherhood, most of the Titans had been captured, one by one, until only a few were left. It was no longer a question of if they would fall. Now it was simply a question of when.

* * *

_Look at him. He's perfect. The way he continues to fight; striking with deadly accuracy and vicious ferocity. He's tiring to be sure but that is to be expected, he's fighting horrendous odds, his supply of weapons is nearly depleted, exhaustion has nearly overcome him and still he fights. I chose our apprentice well._

_**Indeed, you have.**_

Slade Wilson; a man known to the Titans for both his ruthlessness in pursuit of his goals and his obsession with taking Robin as his apprentice, was sitting at a computer terminal; his one good eye taking in every detail of the battle that was unfolding half a world away in the secret lair of the Brotherhood of Evil. Watching the few remaining Titans battle desperately for survival, calm and collected despite overwhelming odds, giving further credence to Slade's persistence in obtaining the boy. Once again, Slade had seen something that made his pride swell. The boy had just leapt back behind a makeshift barricade, before the Brotherhood over ran his hideout with the sheer weight of numbers, Robin was able to rally the few remaining Titans and organize them into a formidable resistance. Futile as it was against the brotherhoods superior weapons and numbers.

Despite the natural disadvantage of being a mere mortal Robin was that last Titan standing, fighting hard and holding off a group of over a dozen foes, all while trying to free his compatriots. Of all the fantastical powers and abilities of the other Titans, Robin's determination, training, and skill had outstripped them all. A more worthy apprentice no master could ever find.

Next to Slade was the borrowed apprentice of an associate. The young man's fingers flew nimbly over the keyboard as he hacked through layer after layer of defences on the Brotherhood of Evil's computer network.

"Finished." the young man said simply, but with supreme and well earned smugness, as he cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his chair to stretch out the stiffness that had accumulated in his body. "Your instructions were carried out to the letter Master."

"Excellent job, Cypher," the evil master-mind praised. "Your master will hear how well you've performed."

"Thank you master Deathstroke." All the smugness had gone as the youth bowed respectfully, before taking his leave of the master assassin. Now all Slade had to do was sit back and hope Robin slipped up.

He scanned the monitor for several minutes more before he saw what he hoped for, his eye narrowing slightly in expectation as Robin stumbled, his foot catching of the rail of a walk way he had ascended to with the use of his grapple gun. He recovered quickly but it was plain to see that fatigue was taking its toll. Brain's henchmen and allies were able to capitalize and bring the exhausted hero to his knees with the assistance of the ever fluid Madame Rouge. Slade punched several commands into the terminal and the view switched to follow Robin's progress as he was marched, kicking and fighting as best he could being bound by the elastic villain, through the compound towards the device that would seal his fate.

The camera angle switched a final time to a view of Robin being dragged, still fighting for all he was worth, to stand on a platform directly below a suspended stainless steel orb. The boy was struck on the head and stumbled as Madame Rouge ejected him from her elastic embrace, panting and bleeding from injuries received during the ferocious battle.

The platform sunk down a short distance before a tube lifted from the floor, trapping the spent hero in a glass cage. Three shiny spikes appeared out of recesses in the steel orb and began to glow as a thick, frigid mist rose from the floor. The glow on the three spikes grew until electricity began to arc between the three points, creating a blue triangle above Robin's head. The mist had risen to chest height and Robin could no longer keep from shivering, a fourth spike came out of the sphere and extended through the triangle of arcing electricity to nearly touch Robin's head. The arc's shifted their path so that all three points were feeding into a rapidly glowing orb hanging just above the shivering hero.

The mist rose to completely obscure the contents of the tube and for a moment Slade had a sinking feeling that Robin had found a way to escape, something the boy was nearly notorious for. The weapon fired and Robin's scream echoed throughout the lab before it was abruptly halted, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The spikes were retracted and the mist was sucked out to reveal Robin kneeling on the platform frozen in time, looking as though he had been huddled over before arching his back in pain.

Only Slade's full face mask could hide the grin as he saw the now frozen Robin being loaded for shipment to his secret base in Russia.

Slade watched as the truck passed the last checkpoint and drove out of sight, leaving the hideout far behind it. He was about to turn off the monitor when he saw Beast Boy burst in, leading a small group of second-stringer Titans. The battle was fierce and despite being outnumbered and out classed, the Titans were winning. Slade practically squealed with glee when an enormous explosion ripped the facility apart, covering his tracks better than even the Hackers apprentice could have. Now all that remained was to use the intervening days to prepare for both Robin's arrival and the next fazes of his plan.

Slade was about to leave the monitor room when the camera angle shifted to the remaining operable cameras. Slade found himself looking at a lush and leafy forest, nothing like the tough looking pine forest that housed the entrance to his secret lair. He switched views between several cameras until he saw the Titans gathered and congratulating themselves, he turned up the audio.

"Yo BB you were awesome man!" Cyborg congratulated his green friend. "Robin is gonna have to promote you to team leader or something!"

"Yes friend Beast Boy!" Starfire exclaimed with her usual exuberance. "You were most amazing during the battle."

"Where is Robin?" came Ravens monotone.

"He's probably just checking on the others, making sure everything's cool." _The young heroes had such unshakable faith in his apprentice, as though they truly believed he could never be harmed or defeated, a god in their eyes._ Raven closed her eyes in concentration.

"I can't sense him anywhere." The barest impression of panic etched its way into Ravens voice.

Beast Boy turned into a blood hound and began sniffing in great draughts of air as he circled the area. "I can't smell him anywhere!" Beast Boy was practically hysterical. Starfire was rapidly losing her sunny demeanour as the implications of Raven and Beast Boy's statements occurred to her.

Cyborg got on his communicator, "Kid Flash, you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Cy."

"Come here." Cyborg clicked his communicator shut as a gust of wind announced the arrival of Kid Flash.

"What's up?" he questioned.

"Did you get everyone out before the place blew?"Beast Boy asked.

"Yeah I searched that whole place, there was no one left when it went up." Flash's normal self assured tone giving way to suspicion. "Why?"

"We cannot find Robin anywhere!" Starfire choked out around quiet sobs. "You do not think he was still in the building when it blew up, do you?"

Kid Flash didn't answer. He'd checked the whole place. Hadn't he? There was no frozen Robin anywhere... Idiot! His mind suddenly screamed at him. What if he had found a way to escape into the vents and was trying to make his way to the control room to free some of the Titans when it went up!?

The suddenly pale complexion of the speedy hero was all the answer they needed.

"I-I'm not sure guys," He stammered, "I-I was looking for frozen Titans, I got them all out. But it never occurred to me until just now that Robin may not have been frozen. There were a hundred places I never thought to look for a live and mobile person. Dammit!" he yelled, displaying more anger than the Titans had thought him capable of. Some of the others noticed his agitation and looked at the small group to see what was going on. "Closets, the ventilation system, crawl spaces why didn't I check there!?" clearly not talking to any of the others, "It would have only taken a few seconds, hell I could have done it _while_ the place was exploding!"

"Relax Bart," Jinx put her arms around Kid Flash in an attempt to comfort him, "it wasn't your fault. Robin is the best of us. None of us had any reason to think he needed looking after. And we both know he would have chewed you out afterwards for losing focus on the mission," she tried to soothe, she knew Bart was hard on himself about his perceived short comings. Holding himself to an impossibly high standard, while not necessarily a bad thing, had the potential to be detrimental to his self-esteem.

"But I should have checked." He insisted, "For all his greatness, Robin is still just a human, there was some serious fire power in there. All it would have taken is a stray bullet or a lucky shot or even something small for him to trip on." Bart collapsed to the ground, muttering about how stupid he was. Jinx tried whispering reassurances to the speedster.

"OK TITANS LISTEN UP!" Cyborg shouted, his voice amplified by a megaphone hidden somewhere in his robotics. "We have a situation here," he began when all the Titans were looking at him. "Robin is missing, we need to coordinate a search of the immediate area." None of them moved. Cyborg hesitated for a moment. "TITANS, GO!" they immediately fell into organized search parties, fanning out to search for their missing comrade and leader.

Jinx suddenly found herself holding air as Kid Flash disappeared into the forest, searching as much of the area as he could. Cyborg paused for a minute. He couldn't wait until they found Robin, it just didn't feel right for him to be the one commanding the troops, at least not without Robin's blessing. The Titans searched long into the following day, stopping only when they were physically unable to continue and starting again as soon as they could muster the strength to move their bodies. Kid Flash eschewed sleep altogether and only stopped searching briefly when he needed to eat to maintain his speed, or get new batteries for his flash light during the night.

By evening of the following day, morale had plummeted. Raven, Beast Boy, Starfire, Mas y Minos and Kid Flash had searched the surrounding area for twenty miles in every direction and the other Titans double and triple checked the areas already searched. There was no sign of Robin. Raven could sense no signs of life coming from the wreckage of the base, and the search and rescue mission became a recovery mission. The Titans carefully sifted through the debris, and although no one would say it, they were looking for the body of their fallen leader.

Someone had to tell Batman. Cyborg picked up his communicator and keyed up the person he'd desperately hoped he'd never have to give bad news to. Within moments Superman was there, setting Batman down amongst the teen heroes, and helping to search for Robin. The mechanical teen tried his best to steel himself as the Batman moved towards him, seeming to radiate darkness even in broad daylight.

* * *

**A/N2: **So I hope you guys liked it, or at least don't feel like it was a waste of your time to read. If you like the idea but feel that it was poorly executed remember that I'm a big boy and I can totally handle a critical review. Even if I do cry myself to sleep afterwards ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_I think you need a shot gun blast_

_A kick in the ass, so paranoid, watch your back! - Shinedown_

"Wake up..."

_Robin was being dragged through the last corridor before he got to the freeze chamber. He redoubled his efforts. No longer thinking to help his friends, a still rational part of his mind reasoned that he was in no position to help anyone right now__.__They pulled him through the final pair of swinging double doors, common to almost every factory in the world, and dragged him over to a raised platform..._

"...Robin..."

_One of the guards turned away to operate the controls and Robin lashed out with his foot, almost toppling the man before he was struck on the back of the head with the butt of a gun._

"Robin, Wake up."

_His head was swimming but he came back to his senses as the platform receded into the floor, leaving him in a circular indentation in the floor. He noticed that the guards had backed off but before he could try and escape the floor around him lifted, encasing him in a glass tube._

He could feel someone shaking him and talking. His mind tried desperately to cling to the sound of the far away voice.

_There was a freezing cold mist all around him and he could no longer stay standing. He huddled over until he was curled into a little ball on the floor, terror growing in him as the mist displaced the oxygen and made it hard to breathe, yet the cold made it impossible to stand back up. There was a sound like a science fiction laser weapon and he arched his back and screamed as searing pain ripped through his body, radiating from his back._

Robin sat bolt upright screaming hoarsely, his throat too dry to allow for coherent speech. He panted for several moments, feeling completely drained before he collapsed back into the bed.

"You gonna live?"

Robin's head flopped to the side and a figure swam into view before his bleary eyes. He was a tall man, a little over six feet, with close cropped salt 'n' pepper hair and broad shoulders. A neatly trimmed obsidian coloured beard flecked with specks of grey adorned a strong chin.

"Yeah," Robin croaked out as the man walked towards him. His throat was dry and his mind was foggy but he could tell that despite needing a cane to help him get around, the man was in good shape for some one of his age, moving with a grace that told of a robust young athlete somewhere in this man's past. Robin accepted the glass of cool water an allowed a small amount to trickle soothingly down his throat before taking a longer pullof the cool refreshing liquid.

"Thank you." Robin left the sentence hanging, hoping the other man would fill in his name.

"...Wilson." He answered helpfully. Now that Robin wasn't so foggy headed something in the man's voice sounded familiar, as did the name. He brushed it aside for now, this man had had more than enough chances to cause him harm if that was his desire.

Robin looked around the room, and although he'd never seen this specific room before, it looked strikingly similar to a room he'd been forced to occupy once before, if a little nicer. Stark, sterile looking walls and a night table, two steel sliding doors adorned the walls. The wall was also recessed into several shelves containing basic everyday clothes; denim pants, cotton tee shirts and sweaters, sneakers and boots, and what looked like several pairs of sleep pants. It looked like one each of the piles of shirts and pants were shorter than the others, like one was missing. Robin looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a slightly oversized grey tee shirt and dark blue sleep pants. He immediately bought his hands up to his face to see if his mask was still on. It was.

The fog was steadily lifting off of his mind and senses and as he took another sip of water and nearly choked on it. Anyone else would have either taken the mask off, or left him clothed in his suit, only one person would leave his mask on, wanting Robin to willingly reveal his features.

"Slade." He growled as he struggled to lever himself out of the bed before collapsing onto the floor, not realizing in time just how little strength he actually had.

"Your mind is just as sharp as ever, Apprentice." The velvety smooth monotone passed through his lips as he abandoned his disguise and bent to pick up the fallen teenager, placing him carefully in the bed. The kindly old man was gone, replaced by the menacing presence of Slade, even if he was out of costume. The expression on Robin's face did not tell of pleasure at this occurrence. "Save any escape attempts for later, you're still much too weak," he admonished in an almost fatherly tone.

"You died."

"Perhaps." The answer was about as illuminating as Robin expected it to be.

"Why am I here?" Robin asked, already knowing the answer.

"Because I couldn't let my apprentice get blown up with the rest of his frozen friends."

"What!?" he was hit with a flash back of all the Titans, frozen and lining the walls of the compound.

"Relax, Robin." Slade soothed as he bent to pick up his prop cane. "They were rescued before Brain activated the self destruct."

Slade turned his back to Robin and made towards the door. Robin levered himself out of bed and this time was able to get his feet under him. He took a step and collapsed to the floor.

"Robin," Slade was audibly exasperated by the boy's stubbornness, "didn't I just tell you that you were too weak to launch a proper escape?" Robin growled and got to his feet. He threw a punch at Slade and nearly toppled over again from the movement. He righted himself and launched a staggering charge. Slade stopped Robin dead in his tracks without so much as having to brace his stance. He gave the boy a light shove and he was sent stumbling back to land on the bed.

"If you're finished for now?"Slade asked, "I have other things to attend to. I'll come back and check in on you later."

Robin ignored Slade and staggered to his feet. He stumbled to the door that he assumed led to the bathroom. Closing the door, he hit the electronic lock knowing that it wouldn't keep Slade out should he choose to enter but feeling better for it all the same.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw that Slade was gone and a covered tray was laying on the freshly made bed. It was a simple meal of chicken soup, fresh baked buns, fruit salad, and pudding and as he ate he felt his strength beginning to return. After he'd eaten he felt his stomach beginning to gurgle and churn and he staggered into the washroom to vomit. When he came back out of the washroom he saw on the digital clock on the night table that half an hour had passed. An immaculately dressed and groomed man worked efficiently and silently to clean the tray and remaining food as Robin looked on.

"Thank you for lunch," he said once the man had finished cleaning up, "I was starving."

"My pleasure." The man said in a clipped British accent that reminded him of the one Alfred used to scold him; ever polite and cordial but with a biting undertone. "I do hope that this time you'll show master Slade a little more respect." And with that the man left Robin alone. The boy collapsed back onto the bed, his mind screaming to stay awake and escape even as the blackness began creeping past the edges of his vision.

Robin had spent over a day confined to his room; being too drained to do anything more than sit up and eat the food that Wintergreen bought him, sparring huge amounts of effort to get himself to the washroom when need be. The meals were smaller than he would have liked, but they came more often than expected. Eventually he was able to make his way into the bathroom for a shower without needing to rest along the way or use the wall for support. He was only mildly surprised to see that Slade had stocked the room with all of his favourite products; from his favorite shower gel to his favorite color towels, a fact he had overlooked on previous visits. The thought crossed his mind that Slade had simply broken into the Tower and rifled through his room, something he was perfectly capable of, but that thought was banished when Robin remembered exactly _who_ he was dealing with. Anyone else would have had to go to those extremes, but not Slade. Slade was on a whole different level. He seemed to just intuitively know everything about you on first sight. Eventually Robin banished these thoughts from his mind and turned on the shower, waiting until the room was thick with steam before taking off his mask and borrowed clothes and stepping into the water.

With the shower taken care of and fresh clothing donned, his next order of business was to try and find a way out of there. He moved to his bedroom door but it slid opened to reveal Slade, standing there in full uniform.

"What's going on here?" Robin demanded, hoping his confusion didn't show through, but accepting that Slade probably picked up on it anyway.

"How do you mean?"

"This isn't anything like last time. What game are you playing?"

"Well Apprentice, you are allowed free run of the facility because it would be rather uncouth of me to confine a guest to a single room, and I expect you would quickly grow tired of that arrangement while I was away." he said.

"What do you mean 'guest', and where are you going?" Robin demanded hotly.

"I mean you're my guest for the time being, I brought you here to recuperate from your ordeal with the Brotherhood. And hopefully get some training in. I assume you've grown soft to have been captured by those fools."

Robin ignored the jab "Guest. Do you expect me to believe I'm free to come and go as I please?"

Slade didn't answer.

"How do you know I won't just go back home?"

"You could," the mastermind admitted, "but you're in a foreign country, you have no identity papers and you won't fight the authorities. If you're curious, then Wintergreen can show you the exit. Just don't head west once you exit the forest" And with that he turned and left, not confining Robin to his room or ordering him to follow.

Robin was stumped; this didn't seem at all like the Slade he'd known. Allowing him to leave, the clothes, the _freedom_, it didn't seem like him at all. What game was he playing?

After a few more days his strength had fully returned and true to Slade's word, Wintergreen had shown him the exit, even going so far so to tell him how to get to civilization. Robin stepped through the door with his uniform back on, all his equipment still intact, except for the stuff he'd used while fighting the Brotherhood, even his communicator was still present, although it was heavily damaged from the battle and freezing process.

He breathed fresh air for the first time in what felt like forever, and basked in the glow of a quarter moon. Once he'd felt the refreshing effects of the fresh air and open spaces Robin began to walk through the trees and soon came to the edge of the forest. He could see a city not far off, the lights twinkling like stars in the distance. He was about to go when he stopped himself. _Slade said not to head west? Why? What's west? Could it be a sloppy attempt to get me to avoid finding an escape?_

Robin changed course and headed west, keeping the forest to his immediate right. Eventually the terrain became rockier and he began having a harder time making his way towards whatever was in front of him. He heard a rustle from the forest followed by a low animalistic growl. He immediately braced his stance and drew his staff. A wolf stalked out of the darkness with his shoulders hunched, head lowered, heckles raised and luminescent eyes glowing a menacing yellow. He prepared to fight the lone wolf off but then another one emerged from the forest, followed by a third and fourth. The four massive animals surrounded Robin and began stalking around him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Suddenly one lunged and Robin forgot entirely about the contents of his utility belt, he swept his pole upwards, catching the beast under the chin and snapping its head back. The three remaining wolfs attacked as one and Robin was forced to dance around, swinging, slashing and dodging as the three enraged animals pressed the attack. Eventually his stamina began wearing down and he was being backed towards the forest, the wolves no longer attacking him, just playing with him.

_Slade told me not to go west__,_ he said to himself as one of the wolves lunged, but he wasn't quite quick enough and the wolf locked its powerful jaw onto his forearm. The two other wolves attacked, biting and mauling him. One of the wolves swung with his massive jaws and Robin tumbled down a rocky slope, the impact of his body breaking rocks loose and creating a mini rock slide as he fell. He came to an abrupt and painful halt at the bottom of the small canyon some fifty feet down a steep slope, and through blurry eyes he could see the wolves carefully picking their way down the slope to move in for the kill. Robin tired to shove some of the rocks off of himself so he could get up and escape while the wolves were stuck on the slope but one of the predatory creatures showed impressive intelligence by knocking more rocks down onto him.

Terror began to well in his heart then, his vision blurred more until all he could see were three sets of luminescent yellow orbs slowly picking their way to him. He saw those eyes and heard those growls and knew what countless other animals knew before the end; he was going to die, and as his vision left him completely he tried his best to come to terms with that simple yet complicated fact. Suddenly there was a change in the commotion and the wolves were yelping and scrambling and then there was silence. Footsteps grabbed his attention as his quickly waning consciousness gave everything a pitch dark hue. He looked up as the darkness closed in around Slade's mask.

_Slade saved me..._was his last conscious thought.

Slade looked down at his bloodied and torn apprentice, he had expected the boy to go west, but this is what he got for relying on wild animals to protect his lair. Sure they had acted just how he'd expected, but for some reason Robin hadn't used the smoke pellets to hide his escape, choosing to stand and fight instead. A brave move to be sure but that didn't subtract for the sheer stupidity of the act. Slade reached into his belt and pulled out a syringe that was filled with a thick silvery liquid, he wasted no time injecting the liquid into Robin's jugular vein. After a few minutes the bleeding tapered off and Robin's breathing became less laboured. Slade sent up a flare from his flare gun and stayed with Robin until he heard the telltale _thumpthumpthump_ of an approaching chopper. He planted false ID in Robin's utility belt and then vanished into the forest, not leaving so much as a trace of his presence.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I want to start with a big thank you to all of my reviewers, especially the critical ones, and I want to give another big thanks to the DarkPrince, for being an awesome Beta and sounding board for half-baked ideas.**

**I wanted to include a bunch of formatting and last minute editing in the last update but somehow the site didn't save it when it said it did, and it ended up posting the raw document (not that raw since it's already been through 3 separate edits).**

**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. Now, in the immortal words of the chorus line from the Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show: On with the show this is it!**

* * *

_Here we go for the hundredth time_

_Hand grenade pins in every line_

_Throw 'em up and let somethin' shine_

_Goin' out of my fuckin' mind. – Linkin Park._

* * *

"How is he doctor?"

"Well, sir, your son was mauled very severely." The doctor looked at a worn clip board. "Both hands shattered, right arm has compound fractures above and below the elbow, left shoulder is dislocated, right knee shattered, left leg crushed below the knee, three broken ribs, left lung punctured and collapsed, fractured skull, heavy brain damage, and internal bleeding..." Slade grimaced inwardly as the young doctor trailed off, as though sensing that his mentor was both standing behind him and unhappy with something he'd done.

"Intern, LEAVE!" The young man jumped and tore out of the ICU and down the stark white hallway, leaving the door to slowly close behind him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson, I try to keep him away from people but he's gotten pretty good at slipping his straight jacket." the doctor said in a tone that made Slade wonder whether he was joking or not.

"It's alright. I asked him to tell me the truth. I would have preferred a lie."

"You seem to be faring well." the doctor said somewhat shocked by Slade's calmness.

"I'm an ER doctor. I've seen horrible things in my time." That statement was partly true, although he tended to see horrible things because he was the one doing them.

"I know. Nothing can ever prepare you for seeing a loved one in that condition."

"Yeah..." Slade let his voice trail off, playing the part of a distraught father trying hard to keep it together; the two men lapsed into silence.

"It's sort of hospital protocol to wait until a patient is awake or stable before allowing visitors, but your son is in pretty bad shape. I'll give you a few minutes."

"Thank you doctor." He led the disguised Slade to Robin's bed and closed the curtain around him, effectively enough sealing Slade and Robin off from the rest of the stark white sterile Intensive Care Unit.

Robin's condition was truly horrific; he was completely covered with bandages that were slowly turning red as blood continued to seep from still bleeding wounds, sensors and various tubes ran from beneath his blanket to various machines and blood bags, the standard IV running to a catheter in his arm, most likely feeding him nutrients and something to keep him comatose. Even Slade was taken aback by the extent of the boys injuries; he was also somewhat impressed that he was able to defend himself so well against four wolves in his weakened condition.

Slade reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a small worn leather satchel, pulling a needle from within its protective embrace. The syringe itself was unimpressive, even the silvery contents looked fairly mundane but Slade knew looks could be deceiving. He stuck the needle into the spare port in the IV bag and watched as the second dose of the silvery solution replaced the clear liquid of the IV. Within seconds the entire syringe full of the liquid had vanished into Robin's blood stream. Slade wondered if this could actually work, but accepted that only time would tell.

The mastermind sat in silence, listening to the hospital staff bustle about their jobs beyond the sterile blue curtain, every now and then a nurse would come in and check on him before leaving silently. He was just beginning to feel something akin to apprehension over the fate of his apprentice when one of the monitors made an irregular sound, and suddenly alarms were blaring. The heart rate monitor spiked and the brain wave monitor began fluctuating erratically as the silvery solution began working on the shattered boy. Suddenly the curtain was torn back as doctors and nurses flooded in and surrounded Robin, trying desperately to stabilize him. Slade played the part of a fearful father, and his character nearly broke into hysterics when Robin's blood curdling scream filled the ICU as he began to thrash and convulse. Once the initial trauma caused by the solution had subsided, Robin settled into a calm slumber, occasionally wincing or twitching as a particularly painful injury began to slowly mend.

Visiting hours ended and Slade was eventually ushered out, he made his way back to his lair to check on the other fazes of his plan.

* * *

Dr. Jan Itor was a large man, a little over six feet with the build of a man you didn't want to meet in an alley at night. He was sitting on the worn sofa in the doctor's lounge sipping lukewarm coffee and thinking about the kid that came in earlier tonight. Apparently he got lost hiking and was attacked by wolves that he had somehow managed to kill before sending up a flare and succumbing to his injuries. And the green and red spandex suit was odd to, but not so much as the domino mask the kid wore. He'd tried everything he could think of to remove it and nothing had worked. He was sure he'd seen that getup somewhere before but before he could piece the mystery together he heard shrill screaming. Guessing it was coming from the still unconscious boy, he tore out of there even before the nurses paged him, leaving his luke-warm coffee to become cooler still.

He raced towards the ICU, ignoring his pager as it beeped for his attention, and once he burst through the large windowed door it didn't take long to figure out where the screaming was coming from. Nurses and orderlies were surrounding the boy, trying to hold him down without exacerbating his injuries.

"Nurse, status." the doctor barked.

"I don't know doctor," She told him, the beginnings of panic telling in her voice. "I was doing a routine check and his vitals spiked, he started screaming and thrashing."

"Administer morphine."

"We did. It didn't have any effect." Dr. Itor watched as the nurses struggled for several more minutes before the boy calmed down.

"Nurse get him in a private room, he's waking up the other sick people and scaring staff."

"Yes doctor." The nurses bustled off to do his bidding.

After running a battery of tests, Dr. Itor couldn't figure out what was happening here. The boy was healing at an extremely accelerated rate, he'd run blood tests but all that did was rule out the boy being a Meta-human. X-rays showed that there was a sort of metallic looking substance diluted throughout his body but it was most likely that he just had too much iron in his system. If the boy woke up, and at this rate that was a very real possibility, he'd consult with him about the importance of proper nutrition and a balanced diet.

* * *

When Robin woke up it was dark and he was hungry and thirsty. There was a steady and irritating _beep beep, beep beep, beep beep_ coming from the heart monitor in the corner of his room. His right arm was itchy and when he tried to scratch it he was met with resistance and an odd clanking sound. He panicked slightly when he realized he was restrained to the bed. He tried to look down at his body and found that his head was secured as well. Panic touched his mind again and he pulled harder as his heart rate monitor began increasing the tempo of its beeping. The steel shackles began groaning from the stress he was exerting on them and he pulled harder. The heart rate monitor was screaming in the corner.

A team of nurses burst into the room and he let up on his assault against the restraints. The head nurse came to an abrupt halt when she saw that Robin wide awake and looking at her through clear, inquisitive eyes and that the steel frame of the bed was warped. The following nurses were unprepared for the sudden stop and collided with the lead nurse, resulting in the whole procession winding up in a tangled heap on the floor. A tall broad shouldered man in a white lab coat strode into the room, casting a contemptuous glance at the pile of nurses that was trying to extricate itself from the floor. Even from across the room Robin could see that the man's badge read; Dr. Jan Itor M.D. and a few greys were beginning to intrude in his chestnut brown mop of hair. Crow's feet were just beginning to make themselves known and slight discoloration around his eyes said he had been lacking sleep of late.

"Why am I tied down?" Robin asked sternly, using the same tone he did with criminals.

"Because you were thrashing around like a fish in a boat. There was a very real chance of you hurting yourself or one the nurses." the man shot back, not the least bit intimidated by the tone that often made the hardiest criminals in both Gotham and Jump tremble in fear.

"Untie me." The doctor gestured to the nurses, who had finally managed to right themselves, and began doing neurological tests as the nurses removed the restraints. After running the standard battery of tests, Dr. Itor was flabbergasted. Just _yesterday _the kid looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a spike laden steam roller and now he was wide awake, healthy as a horse and _demanding _to be let go. It just didn't make sense.

"Nurse, schedule a stress test for first thing tomorrow, and finish removing his bandages."

The nurse worked silently and quickly, leaving Robin alone with his thoughts.

What was going on here? Just yesterday he'd been mauled, nearly to death it seemed. Then this guy, a _doctor_ didn't even flinch when he'd used his _tone._ The one he learned from Batman. The tone that made hardened criminals literally shake in fear. Thinking back, even the Brotherhood of Evil hadn't been afraid of him, they just thought of him as a kid in a Halloween costume. Even Batman never really treated him as an equal, still keeping him on a leash and making him check in like some child the first time they were home alone. He was almost nineteen damn-it! Sure the Titans thought he was the bomb, but they were still kids, literally. They didn't know anything, not really. In fact, the only one who ever treated him as being _worthy,_ whether as an adversary or otherwise, was Slade. In fact, Slade had been trying to mould Robin in one way or another for nearly as long as Robin had known the man; constantly pushing him to be better, to overcome his limitations and weaknesses.

_**Let Slade train you.**_

He wasn't sure where that though came from but it was so strong he could have sworn he physically _heard_ it. It did seem like a good idea, though. Slade was the best; it couldn't hurt to learn from him.

"Try getting some sleep." The nurse's soft voice jarred him from his reverie, "We'll be in to check on you later." She closed the door softly behind her.

Robin tried to sleep but he couldn't. Something was wrong; he was a regular human not a Meta-human, a fact he was damn proud of. There was no way he should be completely healed after being so severely ravaged just _yesterday_. And earlier, he could hear the steel in the restraints groaning against the pressure he was putting on them, he was strong but that was something else. And since when were his eyes this good? Sure he'd always had perfect vision, but he had never seen with this kind of clarity and detail.

He thought back to the night of the attack, somewhat startled to find that he remembered it in perfect detail, right up until he lost consciousness completely his memory was clear as day. Slade had been there. When he was fighting off unconsciousness Slade had come and fought off the wolves. Probably watching him the whole time, Robin realized. Slade had done something to him. To make him heal as he had. That's twice now that Slade had saved him. _If I had listened to him in the first place I wouldn't have needed to be saved._

_

* * *

_

It was ten o'clock the next morning and Robin had been on the treadmill for nearly an hour. He was hooked up to all sorts of monitors testing everything from heart rate to brain function. The test itself wasn't so bad, just run so they can get an idea of what your vitals are doing when you're placing stress on your body, the bad part was that he had been at it for an hour now and the test still hadn't started. They were waiting for his heart rate to elevate, even with the treadmill set to maximum speed and incline it still wasn't happening. In fact, his vitals had barely elevated at all.

For perhaps the hundredth time this last hour Robin let his focus shift from the task at hand to his surroundings. The vertical blinds still obscured the view out the window of the fourth story room. The nurses were still trying to figure out what was wrong with the monitor. Eventually he shifted his focus to the smaller details, patterns on the ceiling tiles, what everyone was wearing, who was walking by the window.

It was during one of these interludes when Slade walked past the window beside him and came into the door.

Robin turned his head and waved, playing the part of a bored child whos father had finally arrived to take him home, all without breaking stride on the running machine.

"Hello Zarimar." The disguised criminal said with an affectionate smile, hiding his surprise as only he could. "I'm glad to see your doing better now."

"Me too," Robin chirped, "Any chance you could get me out of here? They keep waiting for me to get tired so they can start the test but it's been an hour now and all that's happened is I've gotten bored."

"I'll talk to them son, just keep at it for now." And Slade left the room after a brief exchange with one of the nurses.

Zarimar. So that was the name Slade had given him. Eventually, Dr. Itor came into the room and had Robin get off the machine. Deciding instead to keep him for a few days of observation.

* * *

**A/N2: I also lay no claim to Scrubs but Janitor and Dr. Cox are two of my favourite characters so I had to have them in here! Combined into one person no less!! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter but even if you didn't drop me a line and tell me why. I would love to be able to crank out higher quality stuff for your guys and gals to enjoy.**

**Until nest time; Peace, health and happiness.**

**-Kobez-**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**Well here it is. The next chapter. Hope you enjoy it. And I want to give a big shout out to TheDarkPrince, my first-rate Beta.

**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing and I never claimed to. Nor do I make any sort of monetary gains from this, I'm not nearly good enough. But hopefully I will be able get paid to write one day, if you guys leave good reviews and point out my flaws (as a writer! I already know that I need to workout more and read some legitimate literature once in a while. It probably wouldn't hurt if I also read a newspaper sometimes too.)

* * *

_That's me in the corner_

_That's me in the spot light_

_Losing my religion –REM_

_*********_

It had been weird at first, having your worst enemy becoming your teacher and acting like an almost loving father figure, but he'd grown used to Slade's seemingly new personality during the week he was kept in the hospital for observation. True to the act, Slade visited for several hours a day and Robin was pleased that the threats and abuse from last time were now absent. He even turned out to be a surprisingly wise and very supportive and attentive teacher. Although he supposed that it was because this time he was here willingly, trying to shed the weakness of both Dick Grayson and Robin the Boy Wonder. The only danger was losing himself altogether, how long would he be able to pretend to be Slade's Apprentice before he actually became Slade's Apprentice?

Robin was the persona he developed with the aid of Batman to avenge the loss of young Richard Grayson's parents, but trying to live the two lives at once had allowed for many of Richards weaknesses to seep into Robin, until Robin was no better than the boy he replaced. Knowing that he was here to lose Robin, to essentially lose _himself,_ was hard to come to terms with.

Almost as soon as they returned to Slade's lair Robin was ushered into the gym for physical testing. Slade wanted to see how well his little miracle cure had worked. So Robin was running around an expansive obstacle course in the underground lair. He was loaded down with weights attached to his ankles, wrists and a thick, formfitting vest that was strapped to his body. He wasn't sure how much weight Slade had put on him but after twenty minutes of climbing, jumping, sprinting and leaping Robin was nearing exhaustion.

"Enough," Slade commanded, his deep voice permeating the facility. Robin stopped running and walked to the ledge and allowed himself to drop between the platforms into the lower level of the training facility. He landed with minimal sound and strode past the more traditional work out equipment to where Slade stood monitoring his vitals and stats on a computer display.

"Twenty three minutes Robin. Excellent." He focused his lone eye on the boy, who no longer seemed the least bit winded. The boy was adapting surprisingly well to the serum, a distilled and purified dosage of Slade's own blood.

"Do you feel up for another run?" Slade looked to the real time display of Robin's vitals and saw that they had returned back to normal, his heart and lungs working effortlessly to keep his body running.

"Yeah I'm good." Robin turned to go towards the ladder for the upper level when Slade stopped him.

"Take this." Slade gestured towards a small hinged case, similar in design but somewhat bigger than you would see a ring in, inside was an earpiece and Robin fitted it into his ear and continued towards the obstacle course. He could hear motors humming and knew that the course above was shifting again, so that he couldn't get used to the configuration and fall into a routine.

"For the next trial you will run the obstacle course as many times as you can. I will be giving you information through the earpiece and I expect you to recite it back to me when you're finished." The light turned green and Robin was off like a shot, the weights not seeming to slow him down in the slightest.

While Robin was running the course Slade looked over the results of the body scan he'd done before setting him on the course. Bone density was elevated, as was muscle density and brain activity. According to the scan he was completely human, just _better_. Slade, having become what he was before such modern technologies became available, he had no basis to compare Robin's progress to his own, but he hadn't expected him to adapt so readily. He had thought the process would be more painful and slow going, but since he'd poured so much effort into recreating the formula that had been used on him he supposed he could have unexpectedly ironed out of the kinks and limitations.

Slade had Robin run until he was physically unable to continue. The timer read thirty seven minutes and a handful of seconds. This time Robin opted for the stairs as his method of egress, not trusting his legs to stop him should he have chosen to drop down again. By the time he got down he was almost completely recovered, only a thin sheen of sweat was visibly on his forehead as he took slightly deeper than normal breaths, the fatigue long since faded from his once exhausted limbs.

"How do you feel Apprentice?"

"Fine." he replied.

"Good. Can you tell me the information that was relayed to you?" He did, spending the next thirty seven minutes repeating back, word for word, what the voice in the earpiece had told him. Historical dates, information and random trivia. Slade was impressed; the serum had indeed done a fantastic job.

"Take a break. We'll meet back here in thirty minutes for the last leg of the physical test." Robin turned silently and stalked towards the exit so he could make his way to the kitchen for some refreshments.

Slade was unhappy with his apprentice's attitude, but only slightly so. He wasn't getting the respect he'd demanded last time around but he knew Robin better than anyone, alive or dead, and he could sense that Robin was undergoing some internal struggle, an identity crisis perhaps?

Robin stalked into the kitchen. Something was wrong. There was no way he should have been able to go that hard for that long with almost no recovery time. His memory was far better than it should have been, his focus was phenomenal.

He rummaged through the pantry, disgusted by the massive selection of Robin's favorite snacks; he opted to make a simple three egg omlette with mushrooms and onions. When he was done he cleaned up and got a glass of milk out of the fridge and caught his reflection on the stainless steel door. He was dressed in normal work out clothing, except for the weights and that stupid mask that was itching around is eyes. Realizing that he had been wearing the mask constantly for nearly two weeks, with no reprieve, he tore it off and looked in the reflective fridge door again; he saw how much more natural he looked, despite the rings left by the mask. How happy he looked. And how free he felt. As though some weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

-0-0-0-

Slade came out of the training room, his temper rising, his Apprentice was late. He started towards Robin's room, thinking that perhaps the boy had fallen asleep or something, and was about to round the corner when he came face to face with Robin, sans mask.

"Richard Grayson." Slade stated after a minute, carefully steeling his voice against the surge of glee he was feeling. He'd known of Robin's secret identity for some time but wanted the boy to reveal it himself.

"Richard Grayson died when his parents fell from the high-wire," Robin spoke in a matter of fact tone. He walked back towards the training room. Slade turned just in time to see his apprentice toss something over his shoulder and caught the black mass that was rushing towards him. Holding it up for inspection, he saw that the black mass was Robin's mask. The last physical symbol of his resistance.

_Break through._

Robin ran the gauntlet once again, this time with the added twist of having to dodge randomly fired projectiles. His time was twenty two minutes and he had only been hit a handfull of times.

"Excellent apprentice, get some sleep. We'll continue your evaluation tomorrow." Robin silently turned and headed for his room, relishing the thought of a hot shower, even as his breathing returned to normal and his fatigue receded to the very edges of his psyche.

After his shower he checked the clock. It was a little after four in the afternoon. He got dressed and headed out of his room to make himself at home in the kitchen for a while, deciding to put some of Alfred's cooking lessons to use.

-0-0-0-

The next day Robin splashed water on his face to push the final vestiges of sleep from his mind and walked from his room wearing a fresh pair of track pants and a dark tee shirt. He walked into the training room expecting to see Slade waiting for him. Instead he was greeted by darkness. He wandered through the underground facility, lamenting the lack of windows and slowly growing restless with his subterranean confinement even though he hadn't actually been forbidden to leave. He passed by countless rooms, wandering aimlessly, when one caught his attention. There was something different about it, he wasn't sure what it was but he knew beyond doubt that Slade was in that room.

Beyond the door Slade was sitting in front of a monitor and waiting for his Apprentice.

"Very good Apprentice, you've made it. Sit in the chair and place the helmet on your head." Robin moved to comply, not needing to wait for his eyes to adjust to the near pitch black of the room. Slade's eye narrowed. "Now look at the screen and follow the instructions." The only indication that Robin had complied was the slightest tilt of his head.

Slade watched the screen as the results of Robin's brain scan began filtering across it. It was amazing, his mind had found a way to become more efficient, operating far beyond normal human ranges. A sudden drop in mental activity caught Slade's attention.

"What's wrong Apprentice?"

"I'm bored," Robin answered, his voice cracking like he hadn't used it in a couple days, "and I'm getting tired of these tests. I want to go out for a while."

Slade was overjoyed that Robin had practically asked his permission for something. He'd made real progress with his apprentice in the last couple weeks, but not allowing him certain freedoms could be detrimental to that progress. He was beginning to doubt whether he could stop Robin if he decided to go, the distilled serum having skyrocketed his physical and mental ability to astounding levels, easily rivalling Slade's own.

"I was thinking the same thing." Slade lied smoothly, giving away nothing of his excitement. "You have made fantastic progress; it's time to test it in the real world. See if you measure up as well as I expect you to."

Robin went to prepare, searching through the armoury until he found something suitable. Not the least bit surprised that Slade had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of armour and combat gear in his exact measurements. He decided on a tight fitting Kevlar and titanium bi-weave body suit. To the unknowing eye it looked to be solid black with a blue design across the front, with no other distinguishing marks, save a small 'S' in a circle that is synonymous with Slade's name and is worn by his Apprentice's. Robin knew that the suit was actually a composite of various dark colors, which would allow him to blend cleanly into the night without leaving a darker silhouette like pure colours are prone to doing. He also selected a near-black, faded duster for his armour to hide beneath. He was about to leave when he spotted a mask similar in design and appearance to his old one, only this one was sterling silver, tarnished to look nearly black, with sharper, more deadly looking eye pieces and no lenses, so his hard cerulean eyes could be visible to his prey.

* * *

Robin was sprinting across the rooftops and leaping alleys with effortless ease, almost doing a patrol like he had with Batman in the old days. Usually when he thought of Batman it was in the context of a father figure and mentor, but this time there was bitterness to the memory. Who was Batman to deny him his freedom and revenge all those years ago? Who was Batman to force his own idea of justice upon others? Who was Batman to still treat him like a child?

Robin continued across the cityscape realizing that he had no actual idea where he was, and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to care. He had no real reason to go out tonight other than for a change of scenery, somehow he felt no obligation to protect this city's inhabitants, a foreign feeling for him. He roamed the rooftops knowing that Slade was watching his every move as he leapt effortlessly between buildings, rapidly becoming accustomed to how the trench coat like cloak differed from his usual cape. He heard a terrified scream shatter the almost peaceful silence of the near moonless night. The hero in him sparked to life and compelled him to investigate.

From high above the altercation he could see three men accosting a pair of young women, their party clothes torn in places and they backed against the wall, trying to shrink from their attackers in fear. Robin dropped into the alley, falling three stories with only the slight rustle of his coat to announce his arrival.

"Leave them alone," he commanded from the shadows, the street light not doing the best job of illuminating the alley. The three attackers turned as one and gazed into the darkness, his camouflage doing an excellent job of blending him with the urban night. A satisfied feeling welled in Robin's heart when he saw the fear in their eyes, something he had never even seen as the Boy Wonder when Batman wasn't around. The now forgotten women ran away when one of the men noticed the slightest glint off of Robin's new tarnished mask. Robin stepped to the edge of the light, so his outline was partially visible, a dark ghost in the night.

Suddenly two more men showed up, drawn from their post at the mouth of the alley by the fleeing women. One man bore a small golden cross on a chain around his neck, his body language speaking loud and clear that not only was he strung out on some drug, but he was also a recruit new to this gang.

"We told you to watch the alley!" one of the original three yelled.

"We were!" Shouted one of the new comers "Who's this freak." He gestured to the still motionless Robin.

"Wait, if he didn't use the alley entrance where the fuck did he come from?"

"Up there," Robin pointed before gliding into action, stomping one of the gangster's knees. A satisfying crunch met his ears and the man fell shrieking to the alley floor. A second man moved in to attack, throwing a powerful hay maker at Robin's face. Suddenly Robin's right arm came up and swept the incoming fist off course, holding the wrist tightly, his left hand smashed into the gangster's clavicle, the force applied causing him to scream in pain as his collar bone shattered inwards. The last two attacked together in the hopes of catching Robin off guard, leaving the rookie rooted in fear.

Who was this man? He came from above, doling vengeance on behalf of the two women. At first he though the man had come from a fire escape or something but the wall was devoid of any such blemish. Surely he was an Angel. An Angel of vengeance. But he couldn't be an angel, he was too dark, a fallen angel perhaps? Suddenly it hit him. Before being seduced by crack he had been a deeply religious man. And his drug addled mind drew the only conclusion it could. This was either the embodiment of the Angel Za'aphiel, the wrath of God, specifically appointed to punish the wicked on earth. People like them. Or this was the embodiment of Azazel, whom Hebrew scripture said was cast from heaven for refusing to bow before man. Or a mixture of both?

"ZA'APHIEL!!!" he screamed "Azazel-Zaphiel!" he then tore out of the alley, hoping that he could outdistance this incarnation of heavenly, or maybe not so heavenly, vengeance.

Robin had thrown the second of his two attackers into the wall, a satisfying crack signalling that the man may not get up, ever. He was troubled by the thought, but not as much as he would have been in the past. The junkie grabbed his attention when he screamed and ran, but his attention was quickly drawn away from the fleeing man when the last gangster rushed him. Robin stood up tall and kicked straight out with the bottom of his foot, the blow connecting with the man's chest with enough force to send him on a collision course with the brick wall. He hit and slumped on the alley floor.

Robin reached into his cloak for the grapple gun he'd taken out of the armoury and launched the line into the sky, connecting solidly with the top of the wall, he pressed the retract button and was rocketed into the night sky. Slade's grapple gun had more kick than Batman's and when the line was fully retracted it disconnected from the brick and his momentum carried him, practically flying, over the edge.

"Well done Robin." Slade crooned as Robin landed lightly and stowed the grapple gun in his cloak. He was pleased with the efficient brutality of Robin's attack, but disappointed that none of the men had died, as he could hear all of them either sobbing or moaning. He was cut off before he could say more.

"Don't call me Robin." Slade was taken aback, but only slightly so.

"Very well, what would you prefer I call you?" Slade asked, curious to see just how much havoc this identity crisis was wreaking on the boys mind.

"What that junkie called me. Azazel-Za'aphiel. In biblical scripture they are both the names of angels. Azazel was fallen, cast from heaven for refusing to follow Gods will in regards to man. Za'aphiel was appointed to deal with the wicked on earth. Both seem sort of fitting to my existence." Robin reasoned aloud.

"So they do," Slade agreed, "but I find the obvious religious connection to be a touch gaudy. Maybe if we tweaked it a little? Something like Raziel perhaps?" Slade questioned.

"Raziel?" Robin tried it before shrugging, "it works for me."

"Well then Raziel, I'm going to have to ask you not to call me 'Slade' in public, I'm better known as Deathstroke. We have to call it a night. I have pressing business in Mordoza in three days and we have to leave at first light." Raziel turned wordlessly and streaked across the rooftops towards the out skirts of town and eventually the forest that hid the entrance to Slade's, and now his, lair.

Slade stood still looking after the direction Raziel had gone, the boys figure long since lost from sight as it blended with the night. He didn't actually have any pressing business in Mordoza, at least not for himself. It was part of his plot to get Robin, Raziel, he reminded himself, to break the one rule that Batman had instilled in him, the last link to his past. Slade would take Raziel to the capital city of Mordoza, named Mardasa, to see the horrors that the war had wreaked upon that country. Slade had been contracted to bring an end to the conflict. He would send his apprentice in his stead.

But he had more pressing business to tend to at the moment, he dropped down into the alley and a moment later he was back on the rooftop. The gangsters were dead, having never known what hit them or the exact moment it had struck. He would have liked to cause them more pain and terror before they died, but time was a factor so the pain and terror caused by Raziel would have to be enough to satisfy his blood lust. He depressed a button in his mask and the view through his lens flickered and changed to Raziel's view, Slade saw that his apprentice was swiftly traversing the city's roof tops towards his lair, either not noticing or not caring that Slade wasn't with him. The boys pace disturbed him, at this rate Slade would have to go all out to beat him there. But he did love a challenge. Slade switched off his connection to Raziel and took off at a dead run, his surroundings speeding by as he sprinted across the familiar roof tops.

* * *

**A/N2:**I hope you guys liked it! And just so you don't think I forgot: I want to send a thank-you to all of my reviewers, I do try to send individual replies to all of you but I think I might have missed one ot two. Anyway, you guys are awesome.

Like it? Hate it? Feel like I'm about as good a writer as a retarded monkey with touretts? Let me know! the only way I'm going to be able to crank out higher quality work for you guys is if I know what I need to work on.

Like what I did there? how I kissed ass a little bit before begging for feed back;)

Peace, health and happiness.

-Kobez-


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Here's another update. The word count is a little smaller than some of the later chapters, this one clocks in at a little over two thousand. This chapter also marks a portion of the story that came to be while I was enthralled by the Band of Brothers DVD's I bought last year. I want to give a big thanks to my reviewers, and the people who have favorited or subscribed. I hope every one is enjoying their spring break, and I hope you enjoy this update.

* * *

_Look at your young men fighting_

_Look at your women crying_

_Look at your young men dying_

_The way they've always done before. –Guns N' Roses_

_***************_

The once beautiful city of Mardasa was like a cracked reflection of its former self; once pristine streets were filthy and beginning to crumble, office buildings and houses lay unfinished, skeletons of high rises reach to the heavens, begging for completion or destruction. But just like in this city's past, people are still rushing to and fro, stressing over responsibilities and fretting after children. This would look like any other city on earth except for one oddity. The only males were very young, very old or severely injured.

No road crews fix crumbling highways. No construction crews built houses or complete office towers. No doctors resided in hospitals, all of them were drafted into the army and sent to help troops on the frontlines while the infirm suffer and eventually perish of mild fevers or the common cold. But still people struggle on, doing the best they can to earn the money to pay their dues to the war effort. Housing and property taxes have gone up so much that it isn't uncommon for several women to occupy one semi-finished or crumbling house with their families and work two or even three jobs while one stays home and tends to all of the children.

All the people bustling about in their own little worlds are all too ready to ignore two more injured, dishevelled war veterans. One is a young man; he walks with a limp, using a tree branch to assist his right side. His left arm is missing. His right eye is a milky white and horrific burn scars mask the right side of his face and recede into the drawn hood of his tattered coat. The other is an older man with a very pronounced limp and a simple bandage wrapped around his head and covering his right eye and the way he carried himself suggested that he may not be in full control of his mental faculties, even if he was trying hard to hide it. These two invalids are so easy for the crowd to ignore because there are thousands more like them spread throughout the city. All of the countries money is going to the immediate war effort. Things like infrastructure, education and medic-aid, even for veterans, is pitiful or non-existent when compared to all but the most desolate of countries.

What sets these two men apart from all the other invalids is that at a moment's notice they could shed their disguise and become their true selves; Deathstroke the Terminator and his less well known apprentice; The Fallen Angel, Raziel.

Raziel shuffled uncomfortably, he couldn't wait to finally be able to shed this horrid disguise. The coloured contacts were irritating his eyes, his arm was stiff from being bound to his body and his leg was sore from being tightly bound about the knee to get a consistent limp, and the pins and needled in his lower leg was driving his temper through the roof. And without his protective Kevlar armour, he felt oddly exposed, the chances of anyone actually being able to land a blow, or shot, were slim at best, but still...

Raziel's remaining useful eye scaned the crowd looking for threats; any one of these people in this wanna-be shit-hole of a country could be just desperate enough to try mugging them, sure both Raziel and Deathstroke could handle almost any opponent, even hampered as they were, but it still made him uncomfortable. Slade moved off in one direction and Raziel followed, scanning his surroundings like a high-powered radar. Something behind him caught his attention and he gave the signal to stop before turning to see the disturbance. There was shouting and sounds of a scuffle as a mother ran out of the house screaming because her child, a boy of about seventeen, was being loaded into a canopied truck full of people.

"More for the war," Slade muttered, doing a decent impression of a talking parrot before launching into a quiet argument with himself about the morality of soup, and taking off in a seemingly random direction. Raziel stayed for a moment more and followed after Slade as fast as the pins and needles and numbness in his foot would allow. The mothers desperate wailing followed him down the street.

After several hours of traversing the city, seeing similar sights and sounds, Deathstroke and Raziel finally got back to their bunker where they began the process of removing their disguises. Raziel was glad to get the bindings off his leg and arm and his eyes wouldn't stop watering after he removed the contacts.

"So why are we here?" he asked, "We've been roaming around the city for hours and all you told me was to look out."

"We, or more accurately you, were seeing the horrors of war first hand," the assassin informed, "The people of Mardasa have been hailing the Justice League with cries for help for months. So far they have only been told that bigger problems required the League's attention. Eventually the countries government gathered the money to hire me to end it. I have decided that responsibility will fall to you."

"Helping a country out of civil war?" The disbelief in Raziel's voice was plain as day. So was the question.

"I'm not the monster you'd like me to be, apprentice. I am simply a man who is ruthless in pursuit of his goals. It just so happens that, at times, my goals are for sale. Sometimes my goals require me to be the bad guy, and other times they require me to be the not-so-bad guy. There are even places where I am considered a hero of sorts," Slade explained, "And now I have been paid to end this conflict, a task which I will assign to you. Think of it as a test or a chance to earn your keep."

"So how do you intend for me to end a war?"

"It's a test, Robin, I can't give you the answers." Slade admonished with an amused tone in his voice.

"Don't call me Robin," Raziel practically _growled_ as he turned and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Slade asked with no real concern. If the boy was going to try and run he would have done so long ago.

"To shower. And to think."

It was a half an hour later when Raziel emerged from the meager cold shower, with a towel around his waist. "I think I have a plan. I am going to get caught by the troops, gather intelligence from the front lines and go from there." Slade didn't need to listen to know Raziel's plan as it was of no concern to him, so long as it worked.

"When will you start?"

"Now," Raziel said as he threw on simple pants and a ragged shirt, tough soled slippers went on his feet. "Take this before you go," Slade held up a syringe of thin silvery liquid, "in case you run into trouble."

"So you can keep tabs on me," Raziel surmised, assuming it was a nanite solution. Instead of answering, Slade injected the solution into Raziel's blood-stream. This injection was simply to insure the boy's survival. Raziel grunted down the discomfort as the solution entered his system and then he climbed out the third story window and onto the night cloaked rooftops of Mardasa.

It didn't take long for Raziel to find his target; a group of soldiers making the last pick up they had room for, looking for any young men fit enough to fight in the war. They had just begun to enter the home when Raziel dropped down to ground level and began to approach through the still thick crowd. There were yells and screams as the soldiers hauled out a boy of about fourteen with his mother screaming behind them. Raziel broke into a sprint as he drew near the soldiers. This would be easy; all he had to do was make himself appear to be the more desirable target.

"Hey asshole!" he yelled to get their attention, as he leapt into the air and spun his body to strike out with his foot, hitting one of the soldiers in the chest. He was thrown back as Raziel landed lightly on his feet, he drove his knuckle into a pressure point on another soldiers arm causing him to let go of the child, who ran to his mother. Raziel threw another punch, missed and suffered a blow to his head. The hit wasn't very hard so he had to play it up, stumbling slightly as a hard kick landed in his side, but even that felt as though he were being hit through padding. He doubled over and a rifle butt landed on the back of his head. Raziel slumped to the ground, unconscious as the telltale pressure of bruises began to diminish. He could tell there would be no evidence of the beating in just a few minutes.

He lay still for several minutes after he was loaded into the vehicle and it began moving before he finally loosed a low groan and pushed himself to his hands and knees. A boy who had been gingerly trying to rouse him recoiled in fear. Who was this man to so brazenly and so swiftly attack the soldiers?

"W-who are you?" the man asked after Raziel had finally woken up from the beating he'd taken.

Richard Grayson. That was the name his parents had given him. Richard Grayson was the boy who saw his parents fall that night. Richard Grayson was the one who cried at their funeral. Richard Grayson was the one who became Robin in order to get revenge on Tony Zucco.

He'd never been able to get that revenge though. At the behest of Batman, he had simply roughed the guy up a little before leaving him bound for the cops to cart off to jail. They had tangled with the small time crook a half dozen times since then.

Robin had failed to get his revenge. Robin had failed against the Brotherhood. _Robin_ had even failed to intimidate a doctor. Robin had failed, Raziel would not.

"My name is Raziel." He answered, giving them the name Slade had given him after he had expressed interest in taking either Azazel or Za'aphiel as a new moniker. He'd tried walking as the 'angels' had and it hadn't worked out. It was time to walk a different path.

He looked at the occupants of the truck. They were just kids, except for one or two in their twenties, the oldest was no more than sixteen. He couldn't tell whether they were more afraid of him or where they were going. He feigned a stumble and they twitched back in fear. Definitely more afraid of him. He couldn't just leave them alone. Going into a war they'd be killed. He had planned to infiltrate the Mardasan army as a common soldier, _their_ equal, but perhaps he would have to take on more of a leadership role, or at least try to.

"Where are they taking us?" Raziel asked, wanting to get them talking so he could determine their mental status and see how much they actually knew.

"To some army base for training. Then off to fight in the war," a boy of about fifteen spoke up, it was clear that he had been living on the streets for a while before being caught; he probably harboured resentment towards the government and the state of affairs in general.

Just about what he'd expected, not that it mattered. He was in a strange land and he didn't know where he was. All he could really do is sit and wait for the excitement to begin.

* * *

**A/N2: **For some reason this doesn't seem as totally awsome as it did back when I wrote it last year, so I'm hoping for a lot of constructive criticism so that I can iron out similar kinks in future updates. I also want to wish everyone a Happy Easter. I personally can't wait for Easter dinner, it's gonna be awsome:)

I hope you enjoyed the update, see you next time.

-Kobez-


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** So I was going to post this last week but real life got in the way, and my internet connection decided to be unusually asshole-ish. So I decided to be nice and make tonight a double feature! Enjoy!

* * *

_I'm supposed to be the soldier _

_Who never blows him composure_

_Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders. - Eminem_

Day one had been easy enough, basically getting everyone settled in; haircuts, uniforms, barracks and a crash course in military etiquette had Raziel in completely over his head, but it wasn't until the second day that things started getting difficult. He'd studied wars in school; seen documentaries and movies; he'd even led a group of teen heroes into battle against gangs, super-villains, demon tyrants and aliens. He'd studied almost every form of armed and unarmed combat and trained himself to the pinnacle of human physical conditioning and beyond.

None of that seemed to amount to a whole lot just now, almost two months in. Because of his masochistic training regimen and whatever Slade had done to him he assumed that training for military operations would be a breeze and that the hard part would come when he was fighting in the war. Granted he had held out longer than the rest of his comrades but two months of sleep deprivation, intense physical exercise, usually done with seventy pounds of gear on your back and very little as far as food quantity is concerned, have left him exhausted in ways he never imagined a human body could be, he was basically running on will power alone. He had been exhausted before, to the point of losing consciousness, but he was past that now but he had no desire to give in like he had in the past.

Even the combat style was unlike anything he had ever trained with, all of the martial arts and combat he knew relied on fine movement, pressure points and massive amounts of training and skill but this was totally different. The instructors did include various mainstream fighting styles; boxing, jujitsu, taekwondo, Krav Maga and even a little kung fu but they also instructed in a simple but deadly concept of fighting that frankly scared him a little. It scared him because it took simple movements, like raising your hand, and turned them into movements that could potentially do a lot of damage, regardless of combatant size, skill, training or experience. For example; simultaneously knee your opponent in the groin and thrust the palm of your hand up under his chin. The knee in the balls causes him to curl inwards and the palm in the chin will drive his head back, dislocating his neck and potentially killing him.

And that little manoeuvre can be immediately followed up by grabbing onto you opponents chin and pushing his head backwards, causing him to lose balance, and then driving downwards, like you are holding a melon that you want to smash on the sidewalk. It was a brutal and visceral style of fighting that differed from any other he knew, he could already tell that it would serve him well.

As much as he'd hate to admit it, his physical conditioning had actually improved a lot. The military's emphasis on muscular strength and endurance combined with his own emphasis on flexibility and agility had made him far better than he ever was, exhaustion aside.

"You look tired Raziel. Want a break? Maybe grab some sleep?" Sergeant Kovallan asked in a kindly voice.

"Sir, no sir! I'd rather run the gauntlet again sir!" It may seem almost suicidal to refuse the Sergeants generous offer of rest and sleep, except that he last guy who took him up on his offer, Michaels, got three days solitary confinement with only bread and water for sustenance and the rest of the unit got nights of guard duty, meaning they slept for two hours then walked the base perimeter for two hours and then slept for an hour before getting up and going through the usual daily grind. Screw the instructors and he could handle any physical or mental punishment they could think up but giving up meant letting down your friends and giving them punishment, and that was unacceptable.

"How about the rest of you girls?" the Sergeant hollered.

"Sir, no sir!" they all shouted before saying some horrible task they'd rather be doing instead of resting; running up the mountain, running the gauntlet, five mile march through the marsh.

"That's good boys. Fall in!"

The whole unit was working at stations around the exercise yard; sit-ups, push-ups, chin-ups, lunges, squats, stretches, tug-of-war and sparring. But despite all that activity it only took the entire one hundred and forty-seven man platoon only a minute to stop what they were doing and fall in with their units.

"Excellent men. Now who can tell me what you are going to be doing for the next week?" he asked.

"Sir, training sir!"

"Good answer, but wrong," He told them, "You have passed basic training, and the Major wants you to have a week of vacation. Go into town, party, drink, relax, have fun, get laid, whatever!" The platoon broke into cheers.

"The only stipulation is that you have to be ready for the ceremony tonight at eighteen thirty. Now, fall out!" and the men broke ranks and began rushing about to get ready before the dead line. There were showers to be had, boots to be shined, dress uniforms to be cleaned and ironed, a second shower to be had and only two and a half hours in which to do it all.

"Man Razz, can you believe it? We're finally getting our stars."

"I know." Raziel answered with genuine excitement in his voice. Sure the Star's weren't that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. They only really signify that a soldier has passed basic training, sort of like a half way mark.

The next phase of the training would be combat training, not just in a ring or on a shooting range, but in the field against a living, thinking, scheming and experienced enemy; accomplished through the utilization of mock battles, scenarios and live fire training. But that would come later, now was a time for celebration.

* * *

As the little gold star was pinned to his collar Raziel couldn't remember the last time he'd been this proud. To an outsider it was just basic training but after enduring the gruelling experience and seeing how many people weren't good enough, he felt real pride as the Major saluted him and offered congratulations. He'd made it, and so had his brothers.

The entire platoon had ridden into the nearby town of Antillis, just over the mountain, for their week long leave but after so long together there was not a single lone soldier to be found anywhere, either drinking in a group or going off with some local girl for reasons that were sure to be pure and innocent. And given the state of the small country it wasquiteunderstandable. Celebrations went late, alcohol flowed and the women wanted to get laid just as bad as the soldiers did.

After a week in town Raziel found himself driving the truck back to base in the early predawn light, gone were his dress blues, replaced by combat fatigues. Groaning victims of a late night were bumping along in the back, grumbling about his inability to find a smooth surface to drive on. A piercing whistle broke the relative silence.

"Incoming!" he leapt out of the driver's seat, not bothering to waste precious seconds by parking the vehicle. He wasn't sure who, if anyone, made it off the vehicle before it exploded but some of the men, about a dozen in total, were gathering in a stand of trees not too far off the road. He made his way over to them.

"Razz! What the fuck man!?" Lt. Michaels screamed.

"I know, now shut up," he whispered back, "don't give away our position!" His point was emphasized as an artillery shell whistled through the sky and shook the ground, kicking up dirt and shrapnel as it scored another direct hit on a vehicle."

"We're on our own soil, what the fuck is going on!?"

"God damn it, sir! Pull yourself together!" They didn't have time for a hysterical CO but he couldn't bring himself to detest the man for falling apart, he had the first few times he'd gone out as Robin, only Batman's indomitable and reassuring presence allowing him to remain semi-collected.

"Alright guys, how we doing for weapons?" he decided to let someone else deal with what was supposed to be their calm, collected and level-headed combat leader.

"Could be worse," one of the men responded, "They never let us being our primaries, but we got side arms, three clips, and our knives. I think some of the guys might have grenades and the trucks might have mortar and shells"

"OK listen up," he said after a minutes deliberation. "We don't know where or how many the enemy is, or how long until they get here. So the first order of business is to find as many survivors as we can and find some cover. Get any weapons we can out of the trucks."

"Right," Lt. Michaels said, clearly feeling better now that no one was depending on him for direction. Raziel got lucky then, he just happened to be looking east when the small flash of fire caught his attention off in the distance on the road that spiralled up the little mountain. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his binoculars. Finding their focus, he could clearly see the huge cannon off in the distance near the rounded top of the tree covered mountain.

"Ok, Mickey?"

"Yeah, Razz?"

"Eyes east, about thirty miles, elevation fifteen-hundred. There's a cannon there. Keep an eye on it."

"Wilco," and the man moved off to complete his assigned task.

"You," he pointed to another soldier, "Radio Harland, call in support." He turned to Michaels, the ranking officer, "take three men and secure a safe zone in the trees about fifty yards west of here."

"Right."

"Everyone else on me." Everyone who was left, about a dozen men, waited to be told what to do. "Break up, find survivors and get them to the Lieutenant at the safe zone, Search the transports for anything useful. We'll figure things out from there. Break!"

Twenty minutes later and the whole company was back together at the safe zone, minus three dead and seventeen with minor shrapnel wounds. It didn't look promising. Michaels was the ranking officer, which meant that leadership fell to Raziel because Michaels couldn't keep from sobbing like an infant with no milk in his belly. Harland was under siege and they were on their own with the weapons they had.

"Alright guys, I know it looks bad."

"Looks bad? Raziel, we're fucked."

"Can it, Spiz. We can do this; it's what they trained us for." He had to keep morale up, because even the best army in the world could be destroyed by poor morale in the ranks.

"What are we going to do?" it was a good question, and he gave it some real thought.

"We move forward and trench in, get ready for an enemy advance. Then we take a small unit in at night and try take out the artillery. With any luck we'll be able to scavenge some weapons or possibly take the big gun and give some back up to Harland."

"WHAT!?" Joenes screamed. "You want to try back up the base!? We're only one platoon."

"True," he acknowledged. "But what if our enemy didn't know that? What if they thought we were ghosts? Or maybe a whole regiment?"

"Ghosts... how the hell do we manage that?"

"First thing we need to do is get there." The whole platoon spread out and moved stealthily through the intervening forest between themselves and their target, Raziel was glad for it. The men seemed really into the ghost idea but how the fuck was he supposed to make that happen?

* * *

It had only taken them four hours to get within a hundred and fifty yards of the gun, using their trenching knives to dig through time-packed soil and old-growth tree roots had taken until just before sunset.

"Alright, we're in position. Let's go kick some ass!"

"Shut up, Spiz," Raziel punctuated with a sharp punch to the arm.

"But we're here. Let's go."

"We need to wait for the cover of darkness. And we have stuff to do, pull out your blankets."

"We're going to bed? I'm sorry to say, sir, but that seems dangerous and counter-productive."

"We're not sleeping, we're making ghosts."

"Huh?"

"Cut the blankets up, then stitch them back together into crude robes. So they look like a grim reaper from the movies."

It had taken until well after sunset, but they now had tattered and flowing Grim-Reaper robes for half the men, having used two blankets to one robe and all of their surgical sutures. For their part, the invading Russians had been content to sit in their encampment and fire large rounds at the decoys Raziel had left at the shattered convoy, or turn every now and then and fire a shot or two into Harland base, just on the edge of its range. Now they would pay for their laziness and stupidity.

Dressed in his robes and under the cover of a moonless night, Raziel snuck to the edge of the forest to get a better glimpse. The gun was on the road and there were roving patrols intended to keep people from crossing the road undetected, as well as guards and a two units of soldiers stationed in front of the weapon. He decided on a course of action and went to tell the men.

"Ok, here's the deal," he said to get their attention, "everyone in regular cammo is going to sneak within range and wait on us." He was referring to the men in the robes. "_We_ will quietly take out the roving guards, try not to be seen but if you are don't worry about it. Once we're spotted, you guys open fire and we'll disappear into the forest behind the gun and attack from the rear."

Raziel had them get into position after covering their faces with black and putting a reflective red powder just under their eyes; effectively making themselves look faceless, except for two crimson slits where their eyes should be.

Things didn't quite go to plan. None of the guards at the gun had seen Raziel and his men take out the roving sentries, so they'd ended up leaving some alive to go and tell the main force. Having finally gotten his head on straight, Lieutenant Michaels read the change in situation and got ready to move forward.

* * *

"Captain!"

"Why the hell aren't you at your post!?" Captain Dmitry hollered. "And where is your patrol?"

"They were killed sir."

"By who?"

"I don't know sir. They were quiet as ghosts and nearly impossible to see in the darkness. And they had these eyes, these red eyes."

"You been hittin' the sauce, son?" They were deep behind enemy lines and trying to destroy that countries only training facility and this asshole was three sheets to the wind.

"Sir, there's something out there!" another sentry screamed as he ran into the encampment.

* * *

There were stirrings inside the camp as lone scouts came back looking like they'd seen ghosts, but they were a professional unit and they didn't break right away. They began to show cracks when Raziel took a tree branch and smacked a hollow tree with it, causing a thunderous _thunk_ to crash and echo over the already spooked troops. They turned their spot lights and all of their attention towards the woods but they couldn't spot the dark clad men that hid just beyond the lights penetration range in the trees. Raziel held his men back until he saw the regular soldiers begin creeping towards the Russian barricades, then he stepped into the light, keeping low and moving almost like an animal.

At first, the enemy was too startled to do anything, then a second and third shape came out of the trees and then a dozen more, approaching slowly, like ghosts in the night. The enemy started shooting and then their own troops shot the enemy in the backs while Raziel's men disappeared back into the woods. When everything was all said and done, there were no casualties among Raziel's men or allies and the only injury was the bullet that Raziel had taken to the chest; a searing pain had filled his awareness seconds before it dulled and then vanished and when he looked at the wound it looked like an old scar, he didn't bother to tell anyone about it.

"OK, Radio Harland and get coordinates for the enemies location and then I want as much firepower on those bastards as you can get," he spoke into the radio.

"You got it, sir."

The diesel engine roared to life and then revved up as the fifty millimeter cannon swung into position, then the hydraulics whined as the operator adjusted the angle and elevation by fractions of an inch before a resounding _BOOM!_ shook the air and rattled the ground followed swiftly by radio chatter, the revving of the engine, the whine of hydraulics and another shot. It was a slow process but eventually they had sanitized the area around the base and the troops still there had been able to clean up any resistance, they had even had to take out a few other gun nests that the invading Russians had set up around the base.

A huge weight was lifted off of his chest when they got the call that the enemy was dead and gone. Then something else hit him; he had killed. Not personally, but he had been responsible for the loss of many lives. It was still dark out and there was nowhere to wash off their faces, so none of the men could see the turmoil on his features. Nor could they see his expression change as he resolved not to let it weigh him down. He was at war, he reasoned, and in war you do what you have to so that you can go home again.

Thinking about home, he didn't notice his fuzzy vision right away, the darkness obscured his sight so he paid it no mind until his head began to get fuzzy. Sounds began to blur. Vision gets darker. Ringing in ears.

Fade to black.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the lateness of the update but sometimes real life gets in the way, you know? Anyway, I don't really have anything to say outside of the usual disclaimers - I don't own anything, by the way. I also want to thank not just the reviewers, even though you guys and gals rock, but also the people who have been favoriting and subscribing. It's always nice to know people enjoy something that you pour so much of your passion into. So now that thats out of the way, ON WITH THE SHOW!

* * *

_You've got to find your balance, you've got to realize_

_You've got to try to find what's right before your eyes. – Finger Eleven_

"_**Young Rand," the elderly man began as he walked with a student down the hallway, "You have shown remarkable aptitude in the Druid Arts. And you have been granted entry to our home, so that it may become yours as well and you may live up to your tremendous potential."**_

"_**Thank you**__**,**__** Master Drefuus**__**,"**__**t**__**he young boy bowed slightly to the older man, the gesture was almost totally hidden by his enveloping robes.**_

"_**It will be difficult**__**,**__** Rand."**_

"_**Anything worth having is." **_

"_**True youngling, true." The older gentleman was impressed with the wisdom and restraint possessed by this young boy, not yet in his twelfth year. "We push our students hard here; many do not make it passed their first year with us. And they are many years your senior."**_

"_**They do not possess my drive**__**,**__** sir."**_

"_**But they do**__**,**__** young one. If anything you only outweigh them with your potential, but they have several years experience to aid them in their studies and training. You will have to learn quickly, you will be pushed harder than anyone here. Because a special allowance has been made for you to study. Everyone will wish to test you, teachers and fellow students alike will wish to see what makes you so special."**_

"_**Then I had better be prepared to show them, hadn't I?" the boy said with confidence that far outweighed his eleven and a half years.**_

"_**That you shall, youngling." The older man said with a chuckle.**_

"_**Excuse me master, I must attend to my studies." The boy said as he came to a stop in the stone hallway that was sparsely populated by silent robed figures.**_

"_**You are excused young one. Happy learning."**_

"_**Thank you Master." And the young boy pulled his hood over his mop of dusty blonde hair and vanished into the mass of hooded figures in the hall with only his comparative lack of height to set him apart. **_

* * *

Everything came into sharp focus and with a few quick steps Raziel was able to get his feet back under him before the occurrence of what would have been an unpleasant meeting with the ground.

"Razz, you alright?" Michaels asked as he put his arm around Raziel to try and hold him upright.

"Yeah. It's just the adrenalin wearing off, you know?" he lied as he shrugged off his concerned superior.

"Yeah, man, I hear you. But look at it this way: We've survived, and won, our first real military engagement. We're soldiers now!" Michaels almost couldn't finish the thought because a giddy laugh had forced its way past his lips; most likely caused by thoughts of celebration and the lessening of adrenalin that had recently been flowing so freely just moments ago.

"I'd hate to burst your bubble sir, but we still have to finish our placement training," Raziel deadpanned.

Michaels' face lost all expression of joy as the stark reality of a bleak future came crashing back down, "You're an asshole."

"Yes sir." His mouth twitched, and after a brief snort both men were laughing like idiots, as was the rest of the platoon for one reason or another. The trip back to base with the scavenged equipment went relatively quickly with the raised spirits of the men, not quite realizing that the mounds in the back of the lead pickup, covered by borrowed blankets, were the corpses of fallen comrades; killed in the initial barrage, their lives snuffed out before they could defend themselves. They sank back into reality as Harland Base came into view over the last hill.

The once proud and invincible looking fortress stood decimated as fires raged and buildings continued to collapse. Walls were broken and crumbling, smoke and flames still leapt into the air from raging fires and men ran about trying to separate the dead from the wounded and get them medical attention, seeming oblivious to the acrid stench of burning flesh that assaulted the newcomers. All remaining thought of celebration left them as they were sent to relieve the men who had been on guard duty since before the fighting started, their own skirmish overlooked in the face of the larger tragedy. Because of the size of their platoon they were self contained; patrolling the perimeter, scouting the surrounding area and acting as relief. They didn't get debriefed for close to a week.

* * *

"Razz." A tap on the shoulder.

"Razz." More insistent this time, a gentle shake.

"Raziel." An eyelid pried open.

"Raz-"

"I'm awake," the young man in question snapped, "I haven't had a good night's sleep in over two months, I've been awake almost for the entirety of the last three days and I can't remember the last time I closed my eyes and didn't hear incoming artillery fire and the dying screams of my friends but I am awake. So I hope you have a good reason for waking me." Raziel stormed before adding, "Sir."

"... The best I can come up with is that Major Paine wants to see you." Lt' Michaels said after making a show of thinking real hard.

"Nothing but bad news, sir," Raziel said as he dropped out of his top bunk in the barracks, half full of still sleeping soldiers. "That's all you ever have for me is bad news. Very unfriendly," he added with a smile on his face that was swiftly hidden as he pulled a simple white tee shirt over his head before donning and buttoning his fatigue shirt. A little less than six minutes later he was standing at ease in front of the make-shift desk of Major Jonathan Paine, in the middle of what was left of the chow hall.

"Private Raziel," the imposing man began from behind a moustache that would no doubt look 'walrus-y' were it not for his strict adherence to military grooming protocol.

"Yes, sir?" Raziel asked, hoping to move the meeting along so he could get a little more bunk time before going back on patrol.

"Private Michaels tells me that you were involved in a skirmish with one of the artillery guns that were bombarding us, and that you captured it and used it to kill several of the other guns that were bombarding us." The nearly white haired man stated, doing a fairly good job of summing up the encounter, except that he got the Lieutenant's rank wrong but Raziel decided not to bring it up just now.

"Myself and the rest of the platoon, yes sir."

"I understand that, but the Private tells me that when the initial barrage struck your convoy he fell into hysterics, whereas you took the reins like an experienced combat leader."

"Yes sir, the Lieutenant was having a hard time coping with the reality of the situation." He laced extra emphasis on Michaels' rank so that the Major might pick up his error.

"And you weren't?"

"No, sir, I was. Somehow it just didn't cloud my training." He only partially lied; sure he'd gone into battle, so to speak, with both Batman and the Titans, he'd even been fired upon, but somehow it never seemed like the villains were trying to kill you. Especially in Jump.

"Which is why I'm promoting you." the Major stated.

"Sir?"

"You will essentially be taking Michaels' place as Company leader; responsible for training and deployment of your men on the missions you will encounter."

"What about the Lieutenant, sir?" Raziel asked.

"He will be demoted." Upon seeing the slightly confused and distressed look on Raziel's face the older man elaborated. "Both his own demotion and your promotion were his suggestions, son. And I agreed with him. You are a better man to lead the men; you have mettle and a good head on your shoulders and the men respect you."

"Thank you sir," Raziel came to attention and snapped a sharp salute.

"You earned it, son." The white haired man returned the salute form where he sat. "Now, onto important business." He took a moment to shift through some paperwork, and find Raziel the Bars that signified his new rank, before beginning anew.

"The enemy has begun intensifying their siege of our borders and troops at Bastoq are requesting reinforcements. Because they are holding the line just a half kilometre from the town of Bastoq, we have decided to honour their requests. You and your company ship out in two hours. Bastoq is the only place in our country that borders the sea-way, it has significant strategic importance and the Russians hope to cripple our western defences by taking away that supply route." the man explained.

"A question, sir?" Raziel asked, then continued upon receiving permission. "We technically aren't out of training yet, sir. We don't even have a company designation." Raziel informed him.

"I know that but based on your performance the other day you have a solid grasp of combat and unit cohesion. And as for your training," he looked into another folder. "All that is left is specific duty training, and that can be done just as effectively in the field as it can here." He flipped a page in the folder and continued, "According to this, yours is the eighteenth full company to leave this base, which means that your company designation would begin with the letter 'R'. Any suggestions?"

"How about Reaper, sir?" Raziel asked, thinking back to their unorthodox attach of the artillery encampment.

"Reaper, like Grim Reaper; Harbinger of Death. It'll raise an ominous association in the minds of our enemies. I like it." the man proclaimed with a slightly cocky smirk on his aged features. Realizing he still hadn't presented Raziel with his Lieutenant's bar's the Major stood up and came around the desk, aided by a polished cane, and pinned the little gold bar's to the collar of Raziel's shirt and handed him a small case containing the appropriate shoulder patches before exchanging a final salute and going back to the business of getting the base up and running again, waiting until Raziel was gone before he called down to the supply shack and told them to fashion some Grim Reaper inspired company emblems. Raziel turned sharply on his heel and left the Major to his work.

* * *

From afar, coming down the mountain, Raziel could see smoke and crumpled buildings on the edge of town furthest from where they approached and what looked like an active sea port on the side closest, along the river and farthest away from enemy fire. Given the advantage of elevation he could even see where friendly troops had drawn the line to defend the port-town, just on this side of a river that looked like it could almost be called a lake, and where the enemy had set up their own fortifications. The Russians, with their larger force and greater cache of supplies, occasionally fired over a small barrage of artillery just to keep the Mordozan's heads down and hopefully wear down their morale. From what he could tell of the Russian firing pattern, they were actively trying to avoid hitting the town, while also attempting to wipe the opposing army from existence.

Cheers could be heard as the convoy approached the town, the people happy that more troops had come specifically to protect them from the enemy. Raziel felt like he was Santa Clause in the annual Christmas day parade, waving and cheering and trying his best to look like he deserved their admiration and praise, just like the rest of the company was doing.

"You're already heroes to them." a man said as he approached Raziel and his men, separated from their transports so that the weapons and supplies they were riding with could be distributed. The insignia on the man's collar denoted him as a Captain.

"I got that feeling also, sir," Raziel said as he snapped to attention and gave a smart salute, purposely keeping his voice indifferent.

"Wonder how I finally got on the Major's good side?" the man asked rhetorically with a knowing smirk. When Raziel asked for clarification he added, "Last time I requested more men I was told that things were tough all around, and that if my platoon wasn't full of such babies we would be pushing into enemy territory already. Awfully nice of him to finally send us some reinforcements. What's your company specialize in?" the Captain, Donald Forrest, asked.

"Fighting, sir." Raziel answered simply as he followed the Captain to the offices to get everything sorted out, the men were already being shown around the encampment.

"Very funny, Lieutenant," the Captain said, slightly losing his sunny demeanour, "We all specialize in fighting."

"I guess you could say that we specialize in infiltration and psychological warfare."

"I could say?" the older man asked around a grape cigar that he had shoved into his mouth upon reaching the confines of his similarly scented office.

"We've only seen action on one previous occasion. Our convoy was attacked by artillery fire on our way back from leave, we had just finished basic training."

"You haven't even been trained yet? I knew it was too good to be true," the man fumed, then he collected himself and said, "Tell me about your engagement."

"We were riding back from Antillis, through the woods approaching the mountain when our convoy was struck by artillery fire. Some Russians had snuck in with cannons and troops to defend them. Their plan seemed to be to demolish the training facility and then strike the frontlines from both sides. We made our way up the mountain on foot and dug in about a hundred and fifty yards from the enemy's defensive perimeter."

"Ok, then what?" the Captain asked as he took notes.

"We tore up our blankets to make night cammo for half the men and went in after dark and took out the roving sentries and made our way behind the encampment. We drew their attention by approaching from the forest at their rear, dressed as approximations of Grim Reapers, and kept their attention long enough for everyone else to get over their defences and kill them all. Total casualties were three, sustained during the initial assault on our convoy. There were also minor injuries amongst our ranks." Raziel finished.

"Interesting tactics, Lieutenant," the man said, hinting that he was somewhat impressed. "What made you think to utilise such theatrics?"

"Necessity, sir. I thought that if the enemy saw soldiers coming they would just kill us and be done with it. The disguises bought us the element of surprise and the time necessary to capitalise on it."

Shortly after his meeting with Captain Forrest, Raziel was making his way around the nearest section of town. It was within range of enemy fire, so the army had commandeered it for military use. It was just after six in the evening when he got his room sorted out and met up with some of the men he'd trained with. They invited him along to one of the eateries not so far away; Frosia's, one of the many places where soldiers and officers went for food and drink. Frosia's was a favourite because it was also frequented by civilians. He explained that he just needed something to eat before grabbing some bunk time but they eventually roped him into it, saying that it would be a good way to get the lay of the land and get to know the area. The mention of girls being there didn't hinder the allure either.

Raziel joined Ramirez and O'Malley and they met up with a few other soldiers, who were already stationed at the base, but to everyone's slight disappointment, the room was mostly populated by fellow soldiers with the exception of the matronly bar owner and her two young daughters. One of the other men tried flirting a little with the eldest daughter, for whom the eatery was named, as she bought him his beer but a glare from Raziel, his superior, shut down that particular avenue for the foreseeable future.

They chatted as they ate; trading stories and jokes in equal measure. Raziel continued his habit of using his time with the Titans as a basis for his stories and then obscuring the details slightly so that no one would know he used to wear spandex and armour and leap off of buildings, or that his best friends were a young man who was roughly half machine, a green shape-shifter and a half-demon Mage. Or that he had a 'brother' who could run from America to China for authentic Chinese food and be back before it had cooled off. Or that his girlfriend had been an incredibly beautiful alien princess with fiery red hair and sparkling green eyes.

He was almost over come by the urge to go home then, to see his friends and kiss Koriand'r and tell her everything she'd been dying to hear from him. It would be easy. Short of some of the Demi-Gods in the League, no one on this Earth could stop him from doing as he so desired. The only problem would be Slade, but chances were that he could get back to Jump City and then get help in dealing with the man who would be his master.

Ultimately he decided to stay and it broke his heart but he was a hero and he could do some real good here; save a lot of lives, especially if he ended the war like Slade told him to. But there was another reason: Fear. He wouldn't admit it except in the darkest, most private parts of his mind but he feared the man and not just for the physical and psychological torment he could no doubt bring down upon him. He had just recently found out that Slade had survived the encounter with Trigon and in all that time he could have done any number of things: used more Nanites on the Titans, or Batman, or Barbra. Or perhaps he set up some sort of poison gas dispersion system that could kill an entire city should Slade activate it.

He shook those disturbing thoughts out of his mind but the longing ache didn't leave his heart so easily. He barely heard the other men leave, saying they had to be up at 0200 to sneak into enemy territory and try blow their base to hell. O'Malley turned to him.

"Razz, are you OK man?" he asked with hushed tones. "You look like you're about to have a break down all over your fried chicken."

"Yeah man," he answered demurely, "Just thinking of home, you know?"

"I hear you man," he answered with a sigh. "My girlfriend sends me pictures and videos and stuff but it isn't the same."

"I don't even get that," he said, letting his facade crack just a little, "I was going to school in the states and one of my friends thought it would be funny for me to end up in Mardasa instead of Palm Beach for spring break. I fell asleep on the plane and by the time I realized I wasn't even in the States anymore, I was already fleeing a search party and the Airport wouldn't let me back in. Last I heard they were told I'd died."

"Fuck," the darker skinned man let out a breath before shouting for a bottle of whiskey, assuring Raziel that as long as he drank a bunch of water before going to sleep that the alcohol would both dull the pain and help him sleep, the water taking care of his potential hang over. Raziel shrugged and tipped the shot glass back, the brackish liquid causing him to cough as it burned its way past his throat and into his stomach.

* * *

**A/N2:** Well there goes another update and for some reason I feel unusually proud of this particular chapter, so I hope you guys like it as well. Big thanks to the DarkPrince for his epic beta services. Remember to read and review!!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So here we are with the longest update to date, and one of the longest pieces I've ever written. Seriously, I've written whole stories that aren't this long! but I am workingon that so.... And and a big thanks to TheDarkPrince for his efforts as Beta. Oh, and I don't own anything so don't sue. Now, on with the show!

_If you take a life do you know what you'll give?_

_Odds are you won't like what it is. - Chris Cornell_

Simmons had been hand selected, along with a small cadre of other men, to take rafts across the river that acted as a natural barrier; dividing the town and the opposing armies. Their mission was to sneak in behind enemy lines and set explosives at strategic points throughout the enemy encampment and hopefully blow a hole right through the front-lines. With heavy artillery and an entire platoon of men waiting to back them up just a whistle-blow away, should they run into trouble.

On both sides of the river there was a bombed out no man's land, where neither army ventured except to try cross over to the other side, and this is where they were trapped on the enemy side of the river. The Russians had known they were coming and only about a dozen men had been able to escape the initial assault after they crossed the river and now they were trying to evade detection and get back to their own side.

* * *

He was jerked awake by the blaring klaxons, their shrill shriek slicing through his alcohol induced stupor and bringing him back to full alertness. He knew what that shriek meant; 'shits hit the fan, grab a weapon and get ready to start killing stuff', not that he would take a life. He slid out of bed and grabbed his rifle as he ran out the door and rushed head long towards the sounds of screams, explosions and gunfire.

He was nearly to the clearing that bordered the river, leaping over raised defences, trenches and fox-holes like an Olympic hurdler in a tight race for the gold. He leapt over another foxhole, and was about half way over when a soldier stood up to aim and fire, his foot catching on the man's head and causing him to hit the ground in a heap of sweating gasping man, the moaning and bitching coming from inside the hiding hole telling him that the soldier was fine, aside from a monster head ache. He pushed himself to his feet and began running anew. He only made it about five yards when a piercing whistle caused him to turn tail and dive into the foxhole. An explosion shook the ground and rocked the little earthen defence, raining dirt and some sticky liquid that he couldn't discern in the darkness. He hoped it was just mud. Screams and shouts for a medic told him that it probably wasn't.

Raziel poked his head out of the hole and more whistling signalled the approach of more artillery shells, some exploding a few dozen feet above the ground to rain superheated, high-speed shrapnel that cut through armour and flesh like it was tissue paper. The medic was pinned down in a foxhole and against his better judgment, and urged on by the frantic screams of pain and calls for help, Raziel scrambled over the top of his hiding spot and sprinted towards the origin of the screams, almost drowned out by sounds of gunfire and the shrieks and _CRACK_'s of incoming and exploding artillery shells. When the echo's faded he could hear _pop_'s of rifle fire.

He got a funny feeling in his head and a sense of foreboding quickly set into his mind, like that time when he had just learned to swing off of the trapeze. Somehow he had known that if he were to wrap his legs around the bar instead of holding it with his hands, then he would slip and fall and cut his arm when his small body pressed into the safety net at the bottom of his had chalked _that_ sense of foreboding up to nerves and uncertainty about trying something new and he had needed a dozen stitches to close the gash on his right forearm.

This was different however it was almost like a full body shock and he instinctively threw himself to the right, dropping his rifle and throwing his arms up over his head and pressing over his ears. Seconds later the ground he would have been standing on exploded in a concussive burst of shrapnel and debris, before he even hit the ground at the end of his dive. He felt a searing pain in his stomach, hip and upper leg that was quickly becoming a dull ache and then fading into nothing, he scrambled the last few feet to the hole on his hands and knees and tumbled down the side.

O'Mally was screaming in pain and clutching his right leg, blood was pouring from the area and his screams were becoming more slurred as his hands began to shake. The other man in the foxhole, Raziel didn't know his name but the small red cross on his helmet denoted him as a medic, was fighting and pleading with the injured man to let him treat the wound. He was a smaller man and he didn't posses the brute force necessary to extricate the injured limb from the rapidly weakening man, a limitation Raziel didn't share. Raziel wound back and punched, landing a moderate blow to O'Malley's forehead, stunning the man and nearly sending him to the blissful land of unconsciousness. The medic gave him a shot of morphine in the jugular to dull the pain and Raziel tied a make-shift tourniquet about half way between his knee and where the ankle would be just a few inches above the heavily bleeding, jagged stump, and then did his best to wrap the wound and apply pressure to staunch the bleeding.

"Hey Razz..." O'Malley trailed off, hismind beginning to be effected by the painkiller now flowing though his body, "I'm surprised you're up and about, way you were drinkin' I thought your liver was going to shut down right there at Rosies." His reminiscence was interrupted when his head flopped towards the leg Raziel was trying to put pressure on. "Hey, wha-appened to my leg?" he asked, whether he was slurring from the morphine or blood loss Raziel wasn't sure.

"Just a little cut is all." He lied, "You're gonna be fine." he let the medic take over the leg and moved to console the injured man. O'Malley looked like he was going to buy it but then his head flopped to the left and he saw his own booted foot lying not three feet away.

"Jesus fuck, is that my foot?" he asked, somewhat hysterical.

The medic had been fiddling with the tourniquet, tightening it.

"He needs a hospital," the smaller man said. "Can you take him back?" Raziel nodded, feeling inexplicably weak and numb.

"Hey man, we're going for a little run. I need you to hold on OK?" O'Malley babbled something that Raziel took to mean 'ok' so he hauled the injured man onto his shoulders; arms on his right and legs on his left, so that he was slung horizontal across his upper back. He wrapped his left arm around O'Malley's left leg and then grabbed his left wrist in his hand, firmly securing the injured man to his back and allowing a free hand to keep balance with. He took off at a staggering jog but quickly became accustomed to the extra weight and was soon running almost as fast as he could if he weren't burdened, easily clearing or navigating around obstructions. As he approached the rear of the combat area and the shriek, _CRACK_ and _rat-tat-tat-tat _of artillery shells and gunfire began to fade into the distance.

It seemed to him like he'd left his strength and stamina behind with the danger and by the time he entered the emergency room of the makeshift field hospital, a half of a kilometre away, he could barely stagger onwards. It was practically a godsend when he plopped O'Malley down on a free gurney and the burning in his muscles dulled to a throbbing ache. No one had yet noticed their arrival through the panic and influx of other soldiers arriving with wounded men and calling a doctor over before going back to the frontlines.

"I need help!" he tried shouting over the din and it seemed like he'd been ignored until a nurse came over and began checking his pulse, O'Malley jerked awake.

"Thanks for the lif..." he trailed off moments before the nurse said he'd died. Then she shoved his cart aside and went to help someone else.

Raziel felt numb. Just a few hours ago O'Malley had been the center of attention at their table, regaling them all with the story of how he nailed one of the cheerleaders at his high school, where he was starting quarter-back. And now he was dead. Just like that. He looked so peaceful, if he only looked at his face, he could swear he was asleep and any moment now he would wake up and be pissed at him for staring at him while he was dreaming about some girl he once knew. Suddenly, he was bumped aside as two nurses wheeled another gurney passed.

He shook off his shock and began the process of trying to navigate past the constantly shifting sea of dead and dying men as more poured in. By the time he was half way to the exit he knew that the doctors and nurses would never be able to hold up and he made a snap decision to shrug off his combat duty for now and put some of his first aid and medical experience to use.

Like with so many other things since he'd started basic training just a few short months ago, none of his past experience had amounted to much good but he still did what he could; treating wounds and sorting the dead from the wounded, occasionally stopping, transfixed by an expression or a wound or an exposed tattoo. Eventually he was ushered out of the hospital and sent to the communications tower, to relieve the Com. Tech./Doctor that was on duty tonight. The blanket that they had placed around his shoulders told him that he was probably being sent away to deal with his shock as much as to free up another set of experienced medical hands.

He entered the room, a tangle of wires and bastardized equipment all jury-rigged into a functioning communications station, and told the attendant that he had been sent to relive Jameson, adding that the medical staff needed his help in the infirmary. Jameson told him that basically he was just supposed to cool his heels, he had already tried calling for help and had been denied, so Raziel would just have to sit there and listen to the static and chatter. So Raziel pulled up a chair and sat, pulling the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders.

As tired as he had been, and as much as he wanted a break, he hated having nothing to do. Because when he wasn't physically doing something, he was thinking. And not just thinking about what he had done or what he would, or had to, do but thinking about himself; reflecting. When he was in Jump with the Titans he would inevitably spend his 'quiet' time thinking about Slade. Because whether he admitted it or not, they really were very similar. Sure they had different histories and lives and even views of the world but they were also similar in a lot of ways; rising to the top echelons of their chosen paths in a world dominated by meta-humans and super-powered aliens despite being regular humans. They both possess minds that make them just as dangerous as any physical skill, they were both stubborn and ruthless in pursuit of their goals. But none of those were the reason why Robin had hated Slade so much. Sure Slade was an assassin and a dangerous criminal but he also represented something to Robin, which was the _real_ reason he had created the Red-X suit and lied to his friends. Sure he _had_ done it to try catch Slade, but he also done it because he was curious. What would it be like to live on the other side of the law; to be free from expectations or rules?

And Slade represented that. Slade represented what he could do from the other side of the hero/villain conflict, the fun and freedom he could have; the giddy feeling that comes with an adrenaline surge that had nothing to do with combat.

But his parents had raised him with morals, and in his desperation to hold onto the last shreds of them, he had violently and obsessively fought against his darker tendencies. He had, does, believe that by conquering Slade he can lay that side of himself to rest as well and live a life his parents would have been proud of; the life of a hero, like the Titans.

The Titans. How long has it been now, he wondered. Would he ever see them again? Of course he would. As soon as he was done here he was leaving Slade, one way or another. Truth be told, he was only still here because these people desperately needed help. But he was just one man... wait! The Titans could help him. And then they could put this mess behind him and get on with his life.

Realizing almost for the first time that he was in a communications room he decided to dial up the Titans Tower frequency and hail his friends.

"Yeah." His heart fluttered when he heard Cyborg's voice, he couldn't keep his voice from stuttering slightly when he answered.

"C-Cyborg?"

"Yeah," he sounded tired, run down. Raziel immediately faded into the background of his awareness as Robin muscled to the front.

"Get the team together, I have-"

"You think that's funny?" Cyborg asked, suddenly angry, "I ain't getting the team together, so stop calling! You people made your choice." The line went dead before he could get another word in. Slightly disheartened but not done yet he keyed up the frequency for Starfire's personal communicator.

"Umm... Starfire's Communicator," an unknown female voice answered.

"Is Starfire there?" he asked

"Hello?" the girl in question answered.

"Sta- Kori?" again he was at a loss, tears were threatening to fall just from hearing her voice, grainy and cracked as it was over the obsolete speaker system.

"Who is this?" she sounded suspicious, like she didn't recognise his voice. Sure he'd been gone a while but they were so close. How could she forget?

"It's Robin," he answered.

"You think that is funny!?" she screamed, "Robin was a great hero and you have no right using his name!" Static burst from the tiny speaker as she terminated the connection.

What the hell? He hailed her again.

"What!?" the anger was so unlike her that he had to check the frequency to make sure he got the right one.

"Kori, listen to me. It's Robin and I need help. Get the team together and I'll call back in ten minutes."

The girl he didn't recognise answered back.

"Kori doesn't want to talk to you. Don't call back." and for the third time that evening he found himself listening to the hiss of static. Each second he heard the sound of dead air he felt his emotions rising in his chest, making his heart feel like it was being squeezed. He had thought he was lying when he said they thought he was dead. Is it possible that they actually believed he was gone? It took several minutes for him to regain his composure. He dialed Starfire again.

"Hello?" Cyborg answered, and he sounded none too pleased.

"Cyborg it's Robin. Get the team together, I need help-"

"Look, _Robin__,_" he added extra emphasis on Robin's name, almost like he didn't believe him. "I'm not getting the team back together. No one is going to help you. Don't. Call. Back." The line died and they never answered when he tried calling them back.

The emotion he had felt earlier returned with a vengeance and he started crying, bawling his eyes out, for the first time since his parent's funeral. As much as he hated Slade for what he symbolized in his mind, he loved the Titan's for the very same reason. And now, being so callously turned away by them in his hour of need, it was like his whole life was mocking him, telling him that he had been wasting his time. The life his parents would have been proud of, the hero his parents could have been proud of, had turned him away. So called heroes and they had told him 'No' when he had asked for help.

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the cramped, too hot, communications room he stood up, pushing the chair over as he rose, and walked out into the moon light and sounds of distant fighting. Pulling his blanket around his shoulders to keep out the early autumn chill.

This was all a bad dream, he decided. All he had to do was go lay down and when he woke up he would be in the med bay in the Tower because obviously he had been hurt in some fight.

"You!" He turned, his face the definition of the expression 'deer in the headlights'. "Yeah, you! Get over here!" He wandered over feeling like he was wading through a chest high river.

"Yeah sir?" he asked, his voice sounded odd to him, almost like someone else was speaking and he was just tagging along.

"Reds are pushing the line, we're going in as backup." He looked at the gathered men, all of them sporting some type of injury, ranging from broken limbs to cuts and wounds that were obscured by swiftly reddening bandages. The man behind the wheel of the lead Jeep was missing his left leg. Raziel jumped on the back and was nearly thrown off the vehicle as it made a sharp right out of the parking area and rattled down the road towards the explosions. He leaned off the side of the jeep and grabbed a rifle from a retreating soldier.

He timed his jump just right and as the vehicle came to a screeching halt he vaulted over the top and hit the ground in a roll, he came upon his knee with the butt of the gun resting firmly on his right shoulder, he took aim and squeezed the trigger. The gun was set to full automatic but only a half dozen rounds launched from the muzzle before a series of clicks alerted Raziel to the empty clip. He reached for the spare clips stored in the pocket on his right leg and was somewhat surprised when his hand came into contact with bare flesh. He looked down and saw that his uniform was shredded and blood soaked and the flesh beneath was peppered with scars. Next, his eyes scanned the surrounding area and he saw that he was at the very front of the defensive effort, in front of the barricades and set to take the brunt of the enemy advance, held back briefly by the ferocious shouts and gunfire of the recently arrived back up.

His body was twisted left as a bullet hit his shoulder, the searing pain quickly being replaced by a dull throb and then nothing. He got that weird flash in him mind and jumped back behind what looked like the bombed out remains of a brick wall seconds before gunfire ripped through the space he'd just been occupying. As he leaned back against his cover he could feel the small tremors of bullets impacting the remains of the brick fence. He took several deep breaths to regain his composure and as his head sagged to the left he saw a six foot length of reid-bar leaning against the wall he was hiding behind. He could feel the occasional tremor of impacting bullets for a long time, and curled into the blanket that was somehow still wrapped around his shoulders. He settled in to wait for a lull in the barrage of incoming and outgoing bullets so that he might get back behind some better cover and arm himself. For now he just had to stay really still and try push back against this fatigue that seemed determine to force him into slumber.

How did this happen, he wondered. In his relatively short life he had trained under the best martial artists and combatants in the world. He had gone up against entire gangs armed with nothing but a staff and a goofy costume and come out victorious. He had led the Titans into battle against horrendous odds and won, time and time again- the same Titan's that couldn't be bothered to help him. He'd always known that they hated how he made them train and run drills so often, but to hate it so much as to abandon him? -He had trained under the wings of the Batman and gone all the way to a small village in China to train with the True Master and now he was Apprentice to Deathstroke the Terminator. Somehow he seemed able to almost instantly heal from what should have been fatal wounds and here he was hiding behind a crumbling brick wall and hoping it would last long enough for him to crawl away and hide somewhere safe. It was so damn maddening he could scream.

And scream he did. Before he knew it he had grabbed the leaning length of reid-bar and leapt over the make shift shelter and dashed headlong at the opposing force. He ignored the searing pain that he had come to associate with being shot and deftly twirled the steel bar on the ends of his fingers and around his body as he ran at the opposing force. He heard screaming coming from behind, followed by a thunderous cheer, but ignored it, his mind already running through countless scenarios for how the upcoming encounter would go down. His weariness long since faded he felt a boost of energy as the opposing force let loose animal yells and leapt over their cover, forming a massive wave of bayonets coming at him, he pushed himself faster. There was a burned out shell of an old Volks Wagon Beetle just ahead and he stepped up onto it and used it as a platform to launch himself into the mass of swarming, screaming enemies. He would end this war even if he had to beat every soldier on both side to within an inch of their lives and then he would go back to Jump and make the Titans train until they passed out! Just to get back at them for the massive 'fuck you' they'd just given him.

* * *

"Captain, what the fuck happened here?" the old Major breathed, looking slightly green around the gills at the remaining carnage from the battle three days ago. He tried not to look at the slowly reddening bandages around the Captain's chest as he lay in a hospital bed.

"It had been unusually quiet at the enemy camp for almost two weeks, so we sent in a team. They were supposed to go in under cover of darkness and plant C4 charges to demolish the base. Somehow the enemy knew we were coming and they ambushed the unit. Killed all of them, but not before they had given the signal for back up. We had three companies in the wings, plus cannons and snipers, waiting to back them up. All hell broke loose as we charged across the bridge under cover from snipers and cannons and all of a sudden a force that had to be at least twice as large as our own was charging back at us." he explained.

"Jesus H. Christ," the Major breathed in disbelief from where he sat beside the Captain's bed in the field hospital. "How aren't you all dead?"

"That new Lieutenant, Raziel. Somehow he rallied the troops and launched a counter attack." the wounded Captain Forrest explained, having a hard time breathing because of the bandaged up bayonet wound in his chest. "He just came out of nowhere with a whole platoon of armed men from the infirmary, he leapt off the jeep and flew clean over the whole defensive line then burned out all of his ammo from the very front of the defensive effort. He was even in front of the barricades and cover. When he ran out of ammo he leapt behind this flimsy wall and just stayed real still, we all thought he'd been hit and bled out but suddenly he screamed and grabbed a short pole and jumped over his cover, running headlong at the enemy." The Captain stopped for a few moments to catch his breath. He reached for his water and took a sip to wet his throat. The Major had no qualms about waiting.

"The moon was full so we had pretty good visibility, it looked like he had taken a few rounds, the blood-mist bursting out of him, but he just kept going. Someone yelled for him to get behind cover and the men, who had previously been keeping hidden, looked to see what was happening. Then more people started yelling and soon everyone had their bayonets attached and was charging right at the enemy, about a hundred yards behind him." He took another series of laboured breaths, "he leapt off this car that was on the bridge and disappeared into the sea of oncoming enemies. It took a little effort and bloodshed to get through the first wave of Russians and then we noticed a zig-zag swath of fallen enemies lying on the ground; some were dead, others were unconscious and almost all of them were sporting limbs that bent out at odd angles in odd places. At the very front of this swath was Raziel, his metal pole twirling and lashing out at anything within reach, he has to be responsible for at least a fifth of the enemy casualties during that skirmish." He finished his story and watched the Major eye him carefully.

"Don't bull-shit me Captain," Major Paine warned.

"I'm not sir," Donald Forrest said. "You can ask anyone. Raziel was like a man possessed. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's true sir." A man in the next bed confirmed. He had bandages over his eyes and his head was facing slightly to the right of the people he was talking to. After a few minutes, everyone was agreeing rather vocally that the Captain was speaking nothing but truth. After a few minutes more the Major left in search of Raziel. No one gets through that kind of skirmish without getting hurt, no matter how good they are.

"Probably down at Frosia's tavern trying to commit suicide by scotch." one of the nurses stated off handedly. She, along with almost every other nurse and soldier, had gone down at some point over the last few days to try and talk to him but all he did was tell them to go away with a bottle of booze in front of him and eyes that looked like they had no more tears to cry.

* * *

**A/N2: **I hope you guys liked it. I am really interested to hear your opinion of this chapter in particular so don't be afraid to tell me what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Ok, so I've come to an important descision about this fic. It isn't going where I wanted it to, and to me it feels fairly disjointed and poorly written. So I am going to stop writing this fic and instead concentrateon re-writing it the way it sould have been written from the start. That being said, I already have over 20 chapters done on this itteration of the story and both my Beta and myself have put alot of time and effort into this, so I will continue to post this story on a regular basis until A) I have the new one all worked out, or B) I run out of stuff to post. But none of this stuff will effect you guys for a while yet so enjoy!

* * *

_It seems what's left of my human side _

_Is slowly changing in me - Disturbed_

* * *

_Robin was in a lounge chair with his elbows propped on the chairs arms, his hands clasped in front of his stomach and his right ankle was resting comfortably on his left knee. To his right was an older man in his mid to late fifties. He wore professional but stylish business attire and had his hair in a comb-over, despite having a full head of hair. To his left were the other four founding members of the Teen Titans seated in chairs similar to himself, and in front of him sat a sizeable audience and several camera men._

_As part of an effort to retain the public's trust the Titan's occasionally did Q&A sessions, hosted by local celebrities. The Q&A was the brain child of some over paid PR man for the mayor; the purpose was to help the citizens feel connected to the heroes that watched their city, as well as to keep the heroes accountable. The first few sessions had been just what it was intended to be. People asked questions about everything from Super-villain encounters to gang wars and self defence advice. Not anymore, though. Currently Starfire was regaling an enthralled and slightly grossed out crowd with details of some Tamaranean festival where odd food was consumed and sacred traditions were followed. The sessions had quickly degraded into marriage proposals and requests to show up at birthday parties or beat up a bully for some kid who really needed to learn to take it like a man and dish it back. The next question rocked his mind though._

_"Umm... You. There in the red Flash tee shirt. What's your question?" the host asked as he identified the next person who could go to the mike and 'Talk to the Titans!'_

_"My question is for Robin." Robin perked up his ears, mentally swearing that if this was another request for a commitment ceremony from some guy who 'just knew he was living a lie and should accept himself as a gay man' then Dick Grayson would be getting in contact with Red-X or the Hive kids and hire them to do horrible things to this puke. His assumptions were wrong though as the boy finished speaking._

_"Why do you obsess over Slade so much more than any other villain?"_

_"Because he's a terrorist and a mass murderer, he's not just in it to knock off banks or because he enjoyes the theatrics." was the official answer. The crowd murmured its approval as the kid returned to his seat, seeming to regain some of his composure as the limelight was shifted to someone else._

_But truthfully that was only a small part of his obsession over the criminal. Part of it was because Slade always went after him specifically, taunting and critiquing in an endless diatribe of velvety smooth words while fending off his best attacks with seemingly no effort. But the main reason was that Robin believed himself to be a pure hearted, good person, just like his parents would have wanted. While Slade was essentially the little devil on his shoulder; tempting him with knowledge and power and pushing him to push himself. And it was all he could do to stay on the 'straight and narrow', so to speak._

Raziel's eyes snapped open and he shot upright with a gasp for air, startling the two soldiers that had been sent to drag him back to his quarters to sleep off his drinking binge. His right cheek still ached from where he had been laying slumped over the formica table top.

What the hell? That memory had been so vivid that he could have sworn he had travelled back in time to re-experience it. His mind was drawn back to his musings from the other night.

"Lieutenant?"

The main reason he had hated Slade so much was because Slade basically symbolized 'evil Robin' so to speak, but Robin desperately wanted to be good, to make his parents proud. He felt that if he could conquer Slade then he could conquer his own darker tendencies and in some small way make his parents deaths mean something. So that they could look upon him from the afterlife and know that the values and lessons they had taught him as a youngster had held through to shape the man he would become. It wouldn't bring them back, but at least they wouldn't have died in vain. And with Slade's training, no one else would die through his own inability or limitations.

But since becoming Slade's apprentice, he hadn't really changed all that much. Sure he had violated the sanctity of life by killing, but he had done so sparingly and to save the lives of his own men and it had torn him to pieces which explained the epic bender he had just gone on.

"Sir?" The two soldiers were following him now, at some point during his minds wanderings his body had decided to follow suit.

"What?" he asked without bothering to stop or even turn to the two MP's.

"Nothing sir," one of them answered when they realized that Raziel was heading back to his bunk, which is pretty much where they had been told to take him. The two men left Raziel to his own musings again.

Since becoming Slade's apprentice he was still basically the same person. He still believed in helping others, he still believed in the principals that had made him a hero. Hell, Slade had even let him continue to be a hero before he had come to Mordoza. Only as Slade's apprentice he was no longer looked to as a symbol or role model. The pressure of having to be perfect all the time was gone. He was free to curse and swear, he could take out his frustrations by hospitalizing felons who had been coddled instead of punished by the so called justice system that was supposed to protect the victims not the criminals. Simply put he was free, in the basest sense of the word.

He wasn't obligated to do anything he didn't want to. And as much as he still hated to admit it, he _liked_ being Slade's apprentice. He liked the adrenaline rush of stealing, the power of physically dominating anyone who opposed him and his master. And he liked Slade, as odd as the notion still sounded to him. Since it was no longer necessary to resort to varying forms of threats and abuse to ensure compliance, Slade had revealed himself to be a nurturing and insightful teacher, full of wisdom and experience that he wished to pass to Robin; his Apprentice.

He closed the door to the room that the army had commandeered for his use and moments later he was undressed and sliding beneath the covers of his bed. Not ten minutes later, or so it seemed, he was being abruptly woken by fierce pounding at his door, accompanied by muffled shouts.

"What?" he shouted, pulling a tee shirt over his head as he padded barefoot to the door.

"Commander wants you in for briefing in fifteen minutes sir!" Raziel had opened the door as the man was speaking and simply nodded before closing it and getting ready. He pulled a new pair of fatigue pants on and packed the necessary equipment into the pockets and compartments before pulling on his boots and buttoning a parka against the winter chill. The frayed coat wouldn't do much but it was better than nothing when temperatures dropped into negative double digits.

Twelve minutes later he was knocking on the base commanders makeshift office door, having made a stop to the comm. Room; he even had his rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Raziel good, your here. Please come in," the commander said as he happened to look up and see Raziel preparing to knock on the wall next to his opened door. "Close the door behind you."

"I have been looking over your file and it seems like you have experience in stealth, survival and infiltration," the commander began after the formalities had been exchanged and Raziel had sat in the chair next to the commanders hospital bed. His room looked more like a command center than a hospital room and was a true testament to his fighting spirit.

"Yes sir." Raziel answered.

"I have a mission for you then. I have selected a handful of men for you to train to the best of your ability. I want a small unit of men who can go deep in country with few supplies and infiltrate the enemies encampment." the older man explained simply.

"So why do you need me to train them sir? Aren't there people more qualified to do that sort of thing?"

"Yes and no, lieutenant," the man said. "I have been reading reports about your last engagement and I have seen the results first hand. That night you caused more damage to the enemy with a piece of pipe, a knife and your bare hands than we have with all of our artillery shells since the war stated."

"How so?" Raziel was beginning to get uncomfortable with what the commander was implying. He was coming to terms with the taking of human life but it still made him uncomfortable to talk about it.

"My spies tell me that the enemy is wary, they are afraid of _you_: the unstoppable Raziel. And the morale the men who were there has skyrocketed. They think you're some kind of demon or hell-spawn or something. I need you to train more men to do what you can do."

"I'll do my best sir, but I can't make any promises," Raziel finally said. He had been shot a few times, whatever Slade had done to him had made the other night possible and he doubted Slade would be open to handing it out like it was candy at Halloween.

* * *

It had taken the men almost two months of hard training to get to where they were now, and the commander was beginning to grow impatient. Sure the twelve men he had assigned to Raziel had vastly improved their physical fitness and mental discipline but it was taking too long for the training to be complete and he was going to tell the lieutenant just that.

"Lieutenant!" he bellowed over the sound of the near silence of the twelve men slowly following Raziel's movements through a Tai Chi form.

"Yes sir?" Raziel questioned after telling the men to continue without him.

"What's taking so long?"

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"You heard me."

"Sir, these things take time. In order to move quietly and do the things necessary to infiltrate guarded bases, the men need exceptional control over their bodies. Not just anyone can run up a wall." he summarized.

"And you can?" the commander asked, clearly not buying Raziel's story.

"We all can, sir."

"Bull."

"It's true, sir. You can check the gate records. For the last two weeks, basically since the wall around our base was constructed, we have been exfiltrating and then infiltrating the base as practice. The men have grown quite adept. The next phase of training will be out in the wilderness." The commander didn't believe that the men have been leaving the now secured base on a nightly basis but they all swore it was true.

"I was going to talk to you about taking an extended expedition into the countryside to test the men, sir." Raziel added.

That was two days ago and now the base had just dropped behind the horizon. The men were grouped together and sneaking fairly quietly through the night cloaked forest. They even blended with the darkness fairly well now that he had them take their night cammo out of their bags. Now all thirteen men were dressed alike, the other twelve wearing copies of Raziel's 'Reaper' robe from the artillery gun incident a few months back when he was just finishing basic training.

Going was slow because they were navigating through a forest by the cloud filtered light of a quarter moon, having to stop all together when a particularly thick cloud or branch blotted the sliver of light out altogether. For the hundredth time Raziel had to remind the men that they weren't going to use their flashlights to navigate, because the light would immediately give them away if they were in enemy territory. After another hour of navigating through the shifting darkness Raziel began to get the feeling he was being watched and he began scanning his surroundings more closely.

The cloud cover almost immediately began to move off, and although the sky was screened by a thin layer of leaves above, he could see clear as day by the light of the moon and stars filtering through the forest's thin canopy. Then he saw a figure standing next to a particularly thick stand of trees. A figure he recognized immediately.

"You guys go on ahead," he whispered, the sudden and unexpected noise startling the men and showing Raziel just how on edge they were and how seriously they were taking this training.

"Why?" someone whispered back. It sounded like Camil.

"I gotta bleed the lizard." he said after a moment of grasping for a plausible excuse. He probably could have snuck away but with so much light filtering down he didn't want to risk anyone seeing where he was going.

The men slowly moved off and he waited until they were out of sight before moving silently towards Slade, not wanting to make it easy for anyone to follow him. He approached rather quickly but still silently and by the time he had gotten within a dozen yards of Slade, it seemed apparent that the master assassin wasn't yet aware of his presence. A wicked smirk crossed his face as he slowed down and moved to the side, hoping to catch Slade off guard.

"Just because I cannot see you, Apprentice, doesn't mean I don't know where you are."

"Why can't you see?"

"Because it is dark, Apprentice. The clouds have blotted out the moon and stars." Slade's tone told Raziel that the man was not impressed that his apprentice had missed something so simple. "But that isn't important now" the man said after a moment, "why haven't you been checking in?"

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to," he hesitated for a moment, "master." He cringed slightly at the word; it still didn't feel right to acknowledge his subjugation to another.

"Master? I'm surprised to hear you say that Apprentice."

"I was allies with the Titans," he explained, "and they abandoned me. How many masters abandon their apprentices?"

"I have taken extreme caution in hiding our trail Apprentice. What makes you think they've abandoned you?"

"Because I tried contacting them-" he never got to finish his account as his instincts flared to life and he bought his left arm up to block the blow that would have rattled his skull. He reacted without thinking, thrusting the palm of his right hand into Slade's copper and black clad chin, snapping his head back and throwing the older man off balance. Years of training and experience with physical confrontation allowed Slade to turn the situation to his advantage. As he fell backwards he drove his right knee into Raziel's stomach and as the younger man curled inwards from the blow, he brought his left foot up sharply to connect with his chin. Raziel's body went limp as the blow connected. He hit the ground and rolled out of the way as the heel of Slade's boot left a dent in the soft earth. He forced himself to his feet but before he could fully right himself and regain his bearings he was grabbed and swung around to be pinned fiercely against the rough bark of an old growth poplar.

"And why did you contact them?" Slade asked, no emotion coming through on his voice, making the man seem even more frightening in Raziel's mind.

"To ask for help with my mission," he gurgled out in spite of the metal clad forearm that was slowly crushing his throat. He continued when the grip lessened. "The men have been writing the League for months begging for help. I thought I could use my pull to get the Titans down here."

"And?" Slade asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"They told me they weren't coming and I shouldn't call again. They abandoned me." Slade's eye narrowed.

"And you know I won't?" he purred, some sort of joy or good humour playing on his voice. He loved when the world worked to help him accomplish his goals.

"Yes master," Raziel swallowed great draughts of air when the grip disappeared and allowed him to slump to his hands and knees. After a few moments he felt something hit his back and fall to the ground.

"This should make it easier for you to keep in contact." Raziel looked to where he heard the object fell and saw a mask. Like Slade's, it was made of a highly durable metal polymer and covered his entire head. Unlike Slade's, Raziel's was all black. "It has built in communication system, visual amplifier, re-breather, and voice synthesizer, all the usual stuff." the man explained, "I'm sure you'll find it useful."

Raziel pushed back the hood on his robe and fitted the mask onto his head and face. It snapped shut and after a moment a HUD screen appeared before his eyes.

"It works by mapping your eye movements and using that to operate the software. Yes it has software," Slade purred, somehow sensing Raziel's surprise. "It is mostly automatic; the optic sensors will be used mainly for removal of the mask and toggling settings."

"Cool," Raziel said as the mask highlighted Slade's form and bought him into greater focus, he looked around his surroundings and noticed a marker moving over a brush of trees. A little bubble popped up saying that there was sound detected from that area.

"I also bought you this," Slade held out his collapsible staff, "I even modified it for you."

"Thank you, Master." He was genuinely appreciative of the staff. During the battle that had earned his promotion to his current position, he had used a length of reid bar as a staff but the flimsy metal had eventually bent and broken under the pressure, something his staff was not prone to doing. He flicked his wrist and the short length of metal burst into a six foot staff. Pressing a button near his thumb, small blades slid free from the ends of the staff, meaning that now his favourite weapon could do more than spin and hit. With practiced ease the weapon was collapsed and tucked into his belt at his back. When the staff was stowed away properly he removed the mask and placed it into the small bag he had bought for provisions before strapping it to his back beneath his robes.

"You will continue with your mission. Remember Apprentice, I will not abandon you as your friends have."

"Yes Master." Raziel bowed his head slightly and turned to track his men.

"One more thing, Apprentice," Slade purred.

Raziel was sent stumbling as a hard kick connected with his back and he rolled with the blow before launching back to his feet and turning to go on the offensive. He let fly a round house kick and connected with nothing but air, he instinctively dropped to the ground in mid kick and allowed the momentum to carry him through a fast roll as Slade foot sunk into the ground where his arm would have been.

Raziel quickly righted himself and both men circled each other, looking for an opening to attack. Slade was surprised by Raziel's stance; gone was the strong offensive stance, replaced instead by caution and a defensive, calculating nature. Raziel circled around Slade with his body held loose and fluid rather than tense and solid. Slade snapped off a powerful straight arm punch and Raziel's right hand arced out, knocking the incoming fist aside with his staff held in its collapsed position, Raziel completed the move by spinning around the now reeling assassin and aiming the butt of his staff to impact the man's kidney. His head was rattled as Slade spun with Raziel's blow and drove his elbow hard into the younger man's head. Raziel collapsed to the ground and before he could regain his bearings he was hauled up and pinned against a tree with his own staff slowly crushing down on his throat.

Raziel's vision came back into focus as Slade bought his face close, his single eye narrowed into an angry slit as Raziel clawed at Slade's arm. His throat was beginning to hurt and his lungs were screaming for air after the intense physical confrontation.

"you've improved Apprentice, but you still aren't good enough to beat me." Raziel's clawing grew more desperate against Slade's steel clad arms and be began kicking at the man's midsection, trying desperately to relieve pressure on his aching throat. The sounds of his strangled murmurs for mercy were drowned out when Slade spoke again.

"Do not go behind my back again." Raziel's vision faded and everything went dark.

* * *

**A/N2: **As always, I hope you guys enjoyed the update. I want to thank my reviewers and all of the readers who visit and favorite/subscribe to this fic. Another huge thank you to TheDarkPrince for his immense efforts as Beta. remember to Review because I love hearing what you guys think.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Well here's another update for you guys, because I'm so nice. OK so I'm actually a jerk and the only reason I posted is because I'm bored, but what else I got to do with my time?

* * *

_In this farewell, there's no blood, there's no alibi_

_Cause I've drawn regret from the truth of a thousand lies. – Linkin Park_

* * *

They had been on the move since Raziel came to an hour ago. The twelve other men were dead set on going after the lone man they saw running from the scene where they'd found their leader, but Raziel ordered them to go in the other direction. There were grumblings of discontent but a stern glare from Raziel silenced them and spurred them into motion.

They continued for the remainder of the night before finding a thick stand of pine trees to conceal themselves in for the duration of the short springtime day. When the men woke just before dark they were surprised when Raziel told them they would be sticking close to this location for the night and playing a game.

"Predator and Prey," Raziel's voice carried over the small group of camouflaged men. "Every man for himself, you will be attempting to find and capture each other. It goes without saying that you are to avoid being found and captured." Within moments the men had split off and faded into the darkness. When everyone had moved out of sight Raziel turned and stalked silently for nearly half of a mile, easily avoiding his hunting men, before making his way into a thick stand of trees to examine the mask Slade had given him.

It was a beautiful piece of technological engineering; almost impossibly lightweight and on the outside it was smooth and flawless; a flat black in color, at night it became almost too black and the contours were vaguely humanoid with sinister looking ridges around the eyes and mouth making the featureless mask look intimidating all on its own. The only release for the mask was on the inside, meaning that once it was on he was the only one capable of taking it off. When he set his bag down on the ground he heard an odd _clunk_ing sound, opening the bag he pulled out what looked like an iPod touch, only bigger. It had a note attached to it.

_Apprentice,_

_You are to adapt this into your training._

_Deathstroke._

He activated the device and in moments it sprung to life.

"Memory, concentration, creativity, intelligence..." he read down the list of various aspects of mental discipline before choosing the one that said 'cognitive training'. The screen took the appearance of the old Pong game, except that there was only one paddle. He launched the ball and followed it back and forth until it was going so fast that he couldn't keep up with it and ended up losing that challenge, he was given a score based on how long he was able to keep the ball going and then selected a different category. He tried three or four categories before deciding that, it nothing else, it would be a good way to pass time when he was on watch or something.

After growing bored with the various mental exercises he turned off the touch pad and opted to investigate his new mask. Reaching inside he found a small button near the chin and with a _click_ the mask popped loose and he slid it over his head. At first it was uncomfortably tight but it seemed to adjust to the contours of his face at about the same time as the display in front of his eyes came up and began asking him questions so that it could verify his identity and adjust the settings to play off of his preferences and abilities. After a great deal longer than he thought it could possibly take to adjust to a mask, he was stalking the darkness looking for his men. Up until now had been a warm up for them but it was time for them to face Raziel in the darkness. Only by escaping, defeating, or successfully hiding from their superior would result in them passing his training.

He stalked quietly still musing over the HUD in the mask and how it made everything seem almost like a video game when a small sort of distortion appeared seemingly behind a tree. After racking his brain for a few moments, Raziel remembered that it meant there was noise emanating from that location he checked the straps on his bag to ensure they wouldn't make any noise if he moved quickly or resorted to acrobatics. Another distortion approached the first one, informing him that one his men was about to be discovered as he attempted to remain undetected.

He waited until the battle was joined before approaching through the trees. Lesage and Camil were locked in a wrestling match, both trying to gain the upper hand long enough to capture or escape the other one. It was hard to tell who had gained the advantage but both parties split apart and began chasing each other quietly through the forest.

They only got about ten yards when Lesage heard Camil gasp loudly and face plant the ground. Turing, he saw Camil attempting to right himself while someone else approached slowly with steel pipe gleaming in the darkness.

"Hey, the Lieutenant never said anything about weapons," he complained in a loud whisper.

Raziel quickened his pace, seemingly gliding over the crunchy loamy earth, and swung his staff in an upward sweep, just missing Lesage. The other man struck out with a quick palm thrust and connected with Raziel's shoulder, turning him slightly. Before he could escape, Raziel's staff swung behind his back in a graceful arc and swept his feet out from under him. Lesage hit the ground and rolled away, narrowly avoiding the end of Raziel's staff as it sunk into the ground.

Lesage came up with a knife and threw it hard and to his surprise, his squad mate, he wasn't sure which one, caught the knife and before he could react the pommel at the bottom of the handle smacked hard against his forehead, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness.

A shuffle sounded from behind him and Raziel turned and swung his staff with moderate force, connecting with Camil's head and sending the man for a long nap. Lesage had proven to be the most difficult for Raziel to dispatch into the realm of unconsciousness, meaning that after only a few hours of searching through the darkness Raziel was the last man left standing. True they didn't know he would be attacking them but that didn't matter; they may not have bested him but he hadn't really expected them to, not one on one at least.

* * *

Now they sat almost three months removed from that final test, Raziel guessed it to be about mid spring now, because the snow had come and gone, but the night chill remained. Raziel took his knife out of its camouflaged sheath and began hacking limbs from trees and in short order he had a pine branch lean-to to stay in for the night. He then set about gathering branches and dry wood to burn. Normally he wouldn't light a fire, especially in enemy territory but tonight they would be waiting until just before sunrise when they could ambush an enemy patrol and infiltrate the encampment to set charges and blow a hole in the Russian war effort.

With a small fire casting its warmth and light throughout the small shelter Raziel settled against one of the trees that his lean-to was constructed around and waited for the men to find their way back from their various patrols. He quickly grew bored with simply tending the small fire so he pulled out the touch pad from Slade and decided to try beat his score, but unlike last time he didn't try a multitude of games. This time he picked the cognitive test and stuck with it.

_He was kneeling on the ground as Chu-Hui, the True Master, paced back and forth, lecturing about proper breathing to focus the mind during meditation, and how to clear the mind and simply react during combat._

Raziel shook the memory out of his mind and he recalled the bruises that he had been given as he tried to spar without thinking. But still, it was worth a shot. He placed the pad down and meditated for several moments, clearing his mind of unnecessary thought before he picked up the tablet and did his best to react without allowing logic or conscious though to direct his actions.

There was a rustling sound outside the shelter and he slipped the touch pad into his bag as the rustling grew closer to the entrance. Noticing the fire had died into red coals he threw on a few more sticks and blew on the coals to spark the small blaze to life. Lesage came in with Camil, both men looking a little worse for wear, and they exchanged pleasantries briefly before both men opted to retire for the night with Raziel claiming that he would keep watch and tend the fire for a few hours while the others returned from gathering intelligence.

He stoked the fire nice and high before setting out to gather more wood for the night. By the time Raziel returned the rest of the men had filtered in and set up a watch so he simply wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and hunkered down in his spot next to the tree.

He wasn't sure how long he had slept for but he felt rested enough to function when he was roused by the sound of shouting. When the fog lifted from his brain he heard a heart wrenching wail followed by rumbles and explosions coming from far off. He was just rising from his sleep when someone burst into the small shelter shouting.

"The base is under attack!"

There were murmurs of confusion as the sentry breathlessly told what he had seen; namely, explosions. Less than ten minutes later the entire camp was packed up, the fire was stomped out and all thirteen men were sitting or standing on branches on the top of the tallest trees on a nearby hill top so they could see for themselves.

Checking to make sure no one was watching him, Raziel fished his new mask out of his bag and placed it over his head listening to the soft _click_ of the locking mechanism before the HUD came to life and began feeding him real-time images of his surroundings. After taking a few seconds to gain his bearings he navigated the odd functions screen overlay that was presented to him and zoomed in on the far-off carnage until the mask could offer no more.

He could make out the forms of fighting Mordozan's as Russians attempted to flood through a gaping, crumbling hole in the wall. He could see the tanks belching plumes of smoke and fire and explosions rocking the base and shattering the men and women inside. He scanned the area closely, his tactical sense telling him to gain as much information as he could about the situation, then he saw something curious; purple streaks of light began raining down on the base from a fixed point in the sky, littering the ground with small explosions. Shifting his mask to thermal vision he saw that the purple energy was coming from a humanoid figure floating hundreds of feet above the ground.

"Slade," he said after activating the communications system in his mask.

"Yes, Apprentice?" the man sounded calm as ever.

"I don't suppose you're near enough to lend a hand are you?"

"How so, Apprentice?" Slade sounded oddly curious, clearly seeing the video feed from Raziel's mask and wondering what his plan was.

"I need some good armour and equipment, for fighting a Tamaranean."

"Very well, Apprentice. I will contact you with coordinates when I have it in place."

"Good, put it near the edge of the forest between my current location and the town of Bastoq. Raziel out." He took the mask off and placed it in his bag, gratefully breathing great draughts of fresh air. He would have to fix the helmet so that he could breathe regular air, that filtered stuff was disgusting.

It wasn't so much a march back to the base as it was an all out panicked sprint. The men were all in good shape but Raziel made sure to stay in the middle of the pack because he didn't want to dishearten his men, effectively telling them that for all of their effort they were still second class to what they thought was just a regular kid. He hoped it wouldn't happen but he had a feeling that they were going to find out he was far from ordinary.

It had taken them two days to march out to their training ground but only a little over a day to get back within a few miles of the base, close enough that they could see clearly with just their binoculars. He knew the men were itching to get in there and help out their brothers but they couldn't for a few reasons; first was that they were extremely fatigued, both from the run and from not sleeping in almost thirty hours, second was that the Tamaranean, probably Blackfire, was raining down purple death.

After some logical reasoning and a few threats and orders from Raziel the men had fallen asleep, and stayed that way for almost nine hours while the battle for their home raged just a mile away.

Raziel was the first one to wake up and he set about adjusting the settings on his mask so they would save power; he still wasn't sure how to recharge the battery. By the time he opened the slits over the mouth and adjusted the settings so they would operate in the background, the other men were beginning to stir, signalling that they would be awake soon.

"Master?" he asked into his transmitter, no longer bothered by acknowledging his subjugation to Slade. He had referred to the True Master as 'Master' and in his mind Slade wasn't much different. He had a different philosophy and skill set that he was passing on to his apprentice but that didn't change things.

"Yes, Apprentice?" Slade's voice purred over the earpiece.

"What's the ETA on my stuff?"

"Early evening." A long time from the early predawn hour that it currently was, "I expect Starfire will be shaken by your appearance when she sees your armour. Out." The line went dead.

Starfire? So far as he knew Starfire was in Jump with the other traitors, presumably joking about how they've abandoned him. And this Tamaranean was firing purple starbolts, meaning it was most likely Blackfire, Kori's sister. How could Slade not know about Blackfire?

He heard a groan from one of the men and tore the helmet off of his head and stuffed it in his bag.

Sometime over the course of their slumber the base had grown quiet, brief recon indicated that they had been overtaken. The enemy had a foot hold in Mordoza and most of the men, having been born here, were dead set on barging in there and taking the base back. So much so that Raziel had to physically stop some of them and force them to listen to reason. They were only thirteen men; their greatest advantage, and greatest hope of victory, lied in attacking at night and having support from inside.

"Now we have things to do." Raziel threw Camil to the ground, he had been growling his logic into the man's face with enough volume that everyone else could hear him.

"Fucking outlander. What do you care for our homeland?" Camil muttered under his breath. Before anyone could react Raziel's staff sprung to life and found itself buried in the older man's side, just below his ribs. He crumpled to the ground gasping in pain but Raziel knew there was no internal damage, he hadn't hit the man hard enough.

"I swore and oath, just like you." he growled, "And I swore one before that to protect anyone who needed it. Now you will fall in or I will kill you myself and storm the base without you." Normally Jon, the joker of the group, would have pointed out that one man storming the base was suicide, but in that moment they didn't doubt that not only would he keep his promise, but he would succeed to.

"Go find a shallow spot in the stream and wash up, no sense sneaking into the base only for the enemy to smell you and ruin the surprise." The men fell back into the forest and went to the stream so they wouldn't risk being seen by any sentries or lookouts at the base.

Thirteen rows of clothing lay discarded from the edge of the woods to the edge of the stream and thirteen men stood waist deep in the near frigid water washing themselves. The men stayed away from Raziel out of fear. Looking around, he found it amusing that these men collectively feared him, each one of them was taller and broader than he was, and each had the muscle definition and moved with the grace of seasoned warriors, but they still feared him. But he suspected that what he had done earlier was only adding to the budding legend that started with the tattoo that graced his right arm just below the shoulder. It was two small circles, drawn side-by-side, so that they looked like a sideways figure eight, or the symbol for 'infinity'. This mark was to commemorate his pivotal role during the battle of the 'Infinite Infantry' as the event had come to be known.

The frigid bath over with the men were sitting around a fire, both to warm their frozen bodies and cook some rabbits that they had set traps for. They ate well and then went to sleep to pass the time until darkness fell.

They woke as the sun was casting long shadows across the ground so they stomped out the few coals that remained in their little fire pit and made their way to the edge of the forest where they were positioned earlier. They waited for darkness to fall before he sent Lesage, by far the best of his men, into the base to do recon and tell the prisoners to be ready for a rescue attempt. Lesage had returned several hours later, and not long after a thick cloud bank rolled over the sky, blotting out the moonlight and rumbling thunder softly in the distance. The wind picked up around midnight and lightning could be seen on the horizon, the distant rumble of thunder was more insistent and for reasons he couldn't fathom Blackfire was still raining the odd starbolt from on high, the sounds of explosions mingling with the far off thunder.

He was about to call Slade when a twig cracked nearby and the men turned as one, pulling out side arms, throwing knives and close combat weapons.

"Apprentice, call off your men." Slade purred from the darkness, the men were looking around for where he was but Raziel could see him clear as day, even though he had yet to break through the screen of trees, almost like he was sensing his location.

"Stand down." The men looked at him like he was crazy. Why were they letting their guard down against someone who was good enough to sneak up on them? Slade stepped out of from between two broad pine trees and the men gasped in shock before bowing their head in reverence. It appears Slade has a slightly different reputation in this part of the world.

"Master." Raziel nodded in acknowledgment, from the corner of his eyes he could see the men glancing around nervously.

"Here are the items you asked for." He threw a medium size duffel bag on the ground with a weighty _thunk_.

"Thank you." he said before zipping the bag opened and drawing the crimson and forest green Kevlar armour out. He arched his eyebrow in question when he saw a more fortified version of his Robin suit, it had an 'S' in place of the old 'R'.

"I told you. Starfire wouldn't know what hit her." He went against the urge to bring up Blackfire, not wanting to have to explain anymore about his past than he had to to the men.

He pulled the robes over his head and then stripped down his to underwear before pulling the form fitting armour onto his body.

"A little bulkier than I remember." he commented as he attached the cape to his shoulders. For emphasis he held up his arm, which had a bulky but streamlined protrusion from the underside of the wrist.

"Grapple gun," the assassin said simply. "I'm testing some prototype systems."

"Is it reliable?" he asked, his voice falling into his old crime-fighters growl. He didn't like the word 'prototype'.

"The gun itself is reliable, so long as you can use it properly." Slade jabbed, completely ignoring the twelve men who were still in shock that their commanding officer was acquainted, and on speaking terms, with the infamous Deathstroke.

"Good enough for me." he said as he adjusted the utility belt around his waist and finished scanning it's compartments for inventory before turning to the men. "Let's go, we move out now."

He threw his robe and pants back over his armour and turned away from Slade.

"Not wearing the rest of your armour Apprentice?" No one else would have noticed Slade's eye narrow but to Raziel he might as well have been begging him to make him 'lay down the law', so to speak. He reached into his bag and pulled his helmet over his head before drawing the hood up.

"That's better." the man purred through the slits in his own mask. "Have fun Apprentice."

The men shivered as Raziel spoke, the slightest hint of excitment coloring his voice, "Yes Master."

* * *

**A/N2:** Like? Hate? Feel completely indifferent? Let me Know. Seriously, I'm dying to know what yout guys think of the story.

And once again, a big thank you to TheDarkPrinceOfSaiyans for his efforts as Beta. And a thank you to everyone who keeps reading and to those who review, you guys are what keep this story going.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **And we're back with another update. The last one got a few REALLY favorable comments and reviews so I hope that this chapter doesn't torpedo all of that positive mojo.

* * *

_I remember black skies, the lightning all around me_

_I remember each flash, as time began to blur. Linkin Park_

* * *

As they had marched, Slade had given Raziel the operating instructions for his suit over the com-link and Raziel now felt confident in its use. For the time being, he would only need the grapple gun and possibly the immobilization foam, a knock off of the red substance he had invented for the Red-X suit. The plan was simple since Blackfire was still raining starbolts on the decimated facility while guards still patrolled the outer perimeter.

_But Slade had said it was Starfire._

As he looked through his mask the image of Blackfire began to get blurry and soon the metal portion of her costume was replaced by deceptively soft looking flesh, and her black hair and blue-purple eyes faded into the crimson red hair and emerald green eyes of Starfire.

He shook his head, sure that is mind was playing tricks on him, but when he looked back, it was still Starfire that was peppering balls of solar energy onto the remaining pockets of resistance. It didn't matter to him if Starfire was there instead of her sister; in his mind, that explained a fair bit. Now, not only would Kori be made to pay for transgressions against his allies, but she would also pay for abandoning him in his hour of need those long months ago and not trying to find him since he'd been gone.

He and the other men had just burst free of the last of the tall grass that perpetually grew between the forest and the town but they hadn't been spotted yet in the near pitch darkness of the threatening storm. Thunder cracked overhead and rain began to fall as he picked up his pace and easily outdistanced the other men as they made their way to the fortified wall, both from this side and others. Suddenly lightning illuminated the whole area and revealed the waiting form of Madame Rouge up ahead. She was standing roughly between himself and where he had to be if he wanted a shot at reaching Starfire amidst the clouds. His blood boiled as he thought of how far that alien bitch had fallen to now be siding with such low class trash as Madame Rouge.

With a deft movement from Raziel, a small disk was sent twirling through the air. Rouge saw it and tried to dodge but it was too late. The disk had impacted her out stretched arm as she tried to move and it instantly burst into frigid liquid, cold enough to almost instantly freeze most of the villains upper body. She fell to the ground with only the sound of ice impacting the soft earth. Not bothering to waste another moment on the incapacitated villain, or perhaps wanting to take his emotions out on his former love, he simply leapt over the ice-encased villain and raised his arm from beneath his black robes to prepare to fire the grapple line.

Several images suddenly appeared overlaid atop what he was seeing. A tiny cursor fell onto Starfire floating in the air and another traced its path along where he was aiming at the high wall. The advanced software in his helmet read what he was trying to do, mapped out a flight path and adjusted the grapple line's tension and retraction speed. The slightly red tinted overlay turned green and he launched the grapple line to imbed in the wall between two still unaware sentries. He ran for a moment more, allowing the line to gain some slack to catapult him farther and then retracted the line.

Because of his suit's reinforced structure he hardly felt the pull in his shoulder as his body was picked off the ground and accelerated with ever increasing speed towards the edge of the wall. Lightning flashed and the expressions on the guard's faces indicated that they had seen him coming but it didn't matter. As soon as he had registered their notice, the line was disconnected and he was soaring through the air towards the still and floating form of Koriand'r as she launched Starbolt after Starbolt into the ruined fortification. As he came within a hundred feet he felt comfortable enough to yell for her attention and simultaneously launched a small disk from the launcher on his left wrist.

* * *

At the sound of a yell, Blackfire turned and was hit in the face by an exploding disk. Seconds later something much bigger impacted her body and she felt something metallic wrap her in a bear hug before she was tumbling towards the ground and trying to regain her bearings enough to stop her decent and dislodge this surprise visitor. The grip on her body changed as she regained her composure and she felt like she was being grabbed by the neck. A foot buried itself in her abdomen and used her skeletal structure as leverage to remain upright as they tumbled through the air.

She opened her eyes in time to see a figure bring back its fist and send a powerful haymaker into her face. The power of the blow surprised her and sent her reeling through the air as she tried to regain her bearings and shake off her attacker.

* * *

Raziel flew right through the remains of the explosion and impacted Starfire in mid air, sending the already dazed young woman tumbling through the air as he fought against centripetal force to gain some leverage. Eventually he was able to get both arms around her head to use her neck as a hand hold, then he planted a foot into her stomach and hauled himself upwards, putting immense pressure directly onto her pelvic bone, probably enough to even hurt a Tamaranean. When he was comfortable with his grip he hauled back his right fist and punched as hard as he could.

Because of the awkward way he was gripping her neck and the force of the punch, he felt her body go almost completely limp. Probably twisted her neck and tweaked her spine, messing with her body's ability to move freely. She swung at him with her right fist but he easily caught the weakened appendage and used it to gain more leverage and change her position so that he was behind her. After a little reaching, made more difficult by the motion of tumbling through the sky, he had both of her arms twisted uncomfortably behind her back. Silently blessing his acrobatic childhood, he manoeuvred the alien princess so that she was beneath him and first in line to hit the ground.

The impact was bone-rattling and the consciousness left him. When he came to he could feel Starfire wriggling weakly beneath him but strangely there was no pained groans only an odd gurgling sound, like air leaking through water. And he was lying in a fairly deep puddle. He pushed his aching body off of the fallen princess and blessed Slade's magic serum as the pain began to recede to the very edge of his consciousness. Starfire gasped and began taking in great draughts of air.

_Hmm. Starfire was pinned beneath me in the puddle, should have just stayed on top of her; that would have evened the score._

"Fucking traitor!" he said aloud in time with his thoughts before winding up and sending a powerful kick into her stomach. The force of the blow physically lifted her smaller form off the ground and sent her sailing a short distance through the air.

* * *

"Fucking traitor!"

The kick that followed had forced the breath from her and sent her sailing through the air. Who was this human? She had noticed right off that he bore similarities to her sisters friend Robin but so far as she knew Robin was a normal human, there's no way he could be this strong, at least not compared to a Tamaranean.

She rolled to a stop and slowly forced herself to her feet. He was standing there almost motionless with the dark color of his uniform, now visible from beneath the tattered cloak that hung about his shoulders, making him almost invisible through the sheets of pouring rain. Behind him, far more visible due to his slightly brighter uniform and glowing eye, was her temporary partner; some human mercenary that had robotics implanted into him. The armoured red and green figure reached behind his back and pulled a short metal pole into his hand, with a deft flick of his wrist the pole burst to full length at a little over six feet long.

"I may be a traitor," she said with more confidence than she felt, "but you won't be alive long enough for it to matter."

* * *

Raziel watched her rise to her feet, one arm clutching her side as the other massaged her shoulder. He drew his staff and snapped it to full length.

"I may be a traitor, but you won't be alive long enough for it to matter," she reached both hands up and cracked her neck, relieving the pain and obviously undoing whatever he had done to debilitate her so severely. She broke into a run towards him, staggering a bit at first, and then picking up speed; he did likewise. Before they would have collided, he dove forward and placed his staff between her feet, causing her to trip over it. He completed his dive with a simple one handed hand spring and landed lightly on his feet. He could hear the sounds of a fierce engagement all around him but pushed it out of his mind.

Instinct forced him to dive sideways as something whizzed by him, impacting a crumbling structure behind him and sending it up in flames. His mask illuminated the form of KGBeast crouching with a shocked look on his face that Raziel had dodged the projectile. Before he could fire another, Raziel threw a shuriken that embedded in the man's cybernetic forearm. As the Russian mercenary cursed, he brought his staff around his body to knock Starfire's fist off course and loosed his own across her jaw. He heard the squelch of mud behind him and thrust the tip of his staff to meet the approaching threat, the feel of impact and the sound of splashing told him that he had scored a direct hit. Something hit his back and the resulting explosion sent him flying through the air and again, he thanked Slade's serum for allowing him to survive a starbolt before landing in a roll and flipping lightly onto his feet.

He dodged to the side and ran an ever shrinking circle around the alien as she launched a succession of starbolts after him. When he was within range, he swung his staff like a club and drew a pained groan and string of alien curses from her lips as his staff connected a solid blow with her hand. He swung the staff around and down on her other hand to the same oddly satisfying result. He knew that with her Tamaranean durability, it wouldn't break her hands but it would probably take her starbolts out of play for a while. As though to prove him right, her hands lit up with a green aura before she clenched her teeth and hissed in a pained breathe.

They closed the distance and then he ducked under a punch and drove his knee into her stomach. She grabbed his leg and he balanced on his staff and kicked her in the side of the head. She went tumbling with the blow and he landed just in time to see KGBeast charging him. They collided head on and Raziel went with the hit and kicked the Beast off of him, allowing the momentum to carry him onto his feet. He landed hard on the cybernetic man's chest and then leapt into a back flip, landing lightly, he left KGBeast to gasp for air while he went to battle Starfire.

The two locked in combat throwing, blocking, dodging and countering all manner of attacks with the skill and precision of seasoned veterans. It began looking like a stalemate was inevitable, and worse, he could feel himself slowly losing steam, so he changed it up a bit but using the various attacks and combinations that Blackfire had shown him while she was trying to con the Titans. To his surprise she kept up flawlessly.

_Bitch was holding out on me!_

Reinvigorated by his anger, he changed it up again; losing the graceful stylized motions common to most martial arts and began using the more brutal style he'd learned during basic training. Knocking a punch aside he drove his palm into her chin, her head snapped back and he grabbed the collar of her breast plate and used it to pull her closer so that he could throw punch after punch into her unprotected face.

Once again, instinct forced him into action and he spun sideways, grabbing KGBeast's arm and spinning the man around. Keeping a hold of the man's cybernetic arm he kept the spin for a few more seconds before kicking the man's feet out from under him and guiding him face first into the mud. He twisted the man's arm and then with a powerful thrust he severed the cybernetic appendage and threw it aside. The mercenary tried getting up on his remaining natural arm but Raziel snapped his staff into action and swept the limb out from under the mercenary before extending the blade from the end of the pole and driving it into the man's shoulder. He screamed in pain, cursing in his native language, before being silenced by a hard boot to the head. Raziel left the staff embedded in his arm, pinning him to the ground, just in case he woke up anytime soon.

His attention was drawn to Kori as she staggered to her feet. He was somewhat surprised to see that she bleeding rather heavily from her mouth and nose.

"You're obviously outmatched Starfire," he growled. "Why don't you stay down before I have to take more drastic action?"

"I'm not Starfire, Slorgob," she hissed. "Why don't you get your eyes checked, the differences are pretty big." She raised her hand to launch a starbolt but a sticky goo impacted her hand and hardened. She tried her other hand but to the same result. She tried launching more starbolts but the goo just seemed to absorb them.

"Interesting substance, isn't it, Kori? Specifically engineered to absorb your starbolts and then explode after saturation point has been reached. I'd stop trying to use them unless you think you could survive the explosion."

"I'm. Not. Koriand'r," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, "Who do you think you're talking to!?" He opened the helmet and tore it of his head. Her eyes widened.

"What, surprised?" he hissed, "After leaving me to the Brotherhood and Slade and then abandoning me when I called for help. Are you surprised I'm still alive bitch!?"

* * *

She was a capable combatant, raised in a warrior race and schooled in several styles of combat, including a few from here on earth, but her opponent had her completely outclassed. She would have taken flight and simply rained starbolts down on him, if he hadn't already flown up and gotten her once. And now he was calling her by her sister's name. He was ranting like a madman and she had some crystalline substance encasing her hands, neutralizing her starbolts. Then he ripped his mask off revealing the handsome face of her sister's friend Robin.

She had no problem recognising the face without his mask, when she had stayed with the Titans briefly she had sweet talked him into taking it off. It was definitely Robin, even though his face looked more mature and more drawn and angular, there was no mistaking those eyes. In all her travels she could honestly say that they were the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and now they shone on her with a lethal intensity that made her doubt she would want to know more about his recent past.

She channelled her emotions and she could feel the energy building in her eyes. Just a few more seconds and twin lances of power would cut this human down. She couldn't turn her head in time and that same goo splashed across her eyes and hardened.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend, Starfire?" he asked with venom in his voice, causing her to tremble slightly.

She was going to protest his use of her name but his hands wrapped around her throat. She tried struggling but he was too strong. As a last ditch effort she tried using her starbolts. She reasoned that she was Tamaranean, far more resilient than a human, she could probably survive the explosion. And right now, maybe surviving the explosion was a lot better than definitely not surviving strangulation. She poured energy into her hands and after a few seconds she could feel the crystalline substance beginning to hum and vibrate.

* * *

He had lost his cool briefly but had come back to his senses in time to hit Starfire with another shot of that goo so that she wouldn't shoot him with her eye beams. Now he was strangling her.

"You left me to die, Kori. Just thought I would return the favour." he whispered softly into her ear.

"B-but I'm not, not Kori-" her strained voice turned to silence as the consciousness left her.

_Not Kori, yeah right. The nerve of her, trying to lie to me._

He punched her hard in the face, chipping off a few small pieces of the hardened goo and pushed her into the puddle, just before she disappeared beneath the surface he thought he saw her crimson red hair darken into a raven black. She bobbed to the surface and lying there before him was Blackfire, the hard rain was distorting any ripples that would denote whether or not she was breathing.

Beginning to feel tired now that the adrenaline rush had retreated, he turned his back and took in his surroundings. With the arrival of his men and the defeat of the three super-villains the enemy was in retreat, and it just so happened that his air born battle with whichever the hell shape-shifting Tamaranean lay behind him had put him between the enemy and where they were going. He picked his staff from where it lay embedded in the KGBeasts arm and prepared to take on the brunt of the enemy advance, but to his surprise they just ran right by him.

He could hear the sounds of gunfire slowly overtaking the enemies shouts as they ran headlong for their own base. His mind screamed at him and suddenly there was a blinding light followed by searing pain and then a huge force hit him and everything went dark.

* * *

Slade sat watching the battle through the use of his mask's visual enhancers and was thrown backwards by the force of the explosion that rocked the facility. He tumbled through the trees bouncing like a pin ball for several moments before coming to a stop face down in an elderberry bush. He tried to push his body into action but he knew the darkness would soon overtake him, his last thought was that he should have tested the crystallized substance against impact once it had reached saturation.

* * *

**A/N2:** All kinds of villains, a huge fight, Robin goes crazy, and things explode!? Weird huh?

As always I hope you guys like it, a big thanks to all my reviewers and readers, and a bigger thanks to TheDarkPrinceOfSaiyans for his monumental efforts as Beta, especially since he still has his own fic series in the works (check 'em out, they rock!)

Peace, health and happiness.

-Kobez-


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: So it's been a while. Like, a LONG while. I can't really make any excuses, I just plain lost the desire to sit alone and craft substandard tales with someone elses intellectual properties while I COULD be out doing all kinds of other things to better myself. (Since the last time we've talked I've started a career, gotten involved in and totally FUBAR'd a serious relationship, and gotten a handle on my health and fitness. Although I am still flailing blindly through this grand adventure we call life.

In terms of the story, I am disting this one off, and I'll me picking away at it VERY SLOWLY. So I appologize in advance if this bothers anyone. this is just a short little update to start things off and hopefully set the tone for the rest of the fic. Anyway, enjoy my little slice of insanity :D

Oh, Standard disclaimers apply.

_Hello,_

_Is there anybody out there?_

_Just nod if you can hear me_

_Is there any one home?_

_Come on_

_Now_

_I hear you're feeling down_

_I can ease your pain_

_Get you on your feet again_

_Relax_

_I'll need some information first_

_Just the basic facts_

_Can you show me where it hurts?_

_There is no pain you are receding_

_A distant ship's smoke on the horizon_

_You are only coming through in waves_

_Your lips move_

_But I can't hear what you're saying_

_-Pink Floyd-_

BI BI BI

He found himself somewhere he could not readily quantify. No words he knew could describe what his awareness perceived; time, space, distance, all was impossible to determine in this place. Though perhaps 'place' was not the best way to describe where he was, as nothing he knew of could seem so… something. Yet he was aware of it, so by definition it must exist, meaning that it was in fact _somewhere._

None of the traditional senses seemed overly effective here and even the fundamental things like spatial awareness or the sense of his own body seemed entirely insignificant. Meaningless, even non-existent.

Is this what death was like?

It seemed an obvious answer, though conventional wisdom suggested that Death could only possibly be a small handful of things. He doubted this was either Heaven or Hell, as it was not pleasant, but not unpleasant either. And he certainly hadn't simply ceased to exist.

After an indeterminate length of time, he was no longer alone. He could still not quantify his surroundings or lend meaning or measure to his habitation. But something teased at his senses, tickling the very edges of his awareness. It spoke to him as through emotion, messages from his own soul. It communicated in no intelligible way but was entirely impossible to misunderstand.

* * *

Slade sat back in his chair with his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Normally Slade would never even consider going into the private residence of the Batman but his apprentice needed the proper care if he was going to recover. It was still risky, but Batman was stretched very thin with a number of troubling issues, not the least of which was the horrible condition that his adopted son was in, a condition that would have been fatal to literally every other human on earth. Batman was also dealing with an unprecedented crime wave that was triggered by the arrival of a new criminal organization, an organization who's foot soldiers could even put the hurt on the Batman. Wayne Tech was also in a recession, nothing major but enough to require his attention more than usual to reassure investors and put out fires. All of it combined into the best possible scenario to allow Slade to infiltrate the Batman's inner sanctum to tend to his Apprentice.

The boy was remarkably improved; the serum that he had already absorbed had been slowly repairing his injuries, and stumping every doctor that saw him. Slade just gave him a little bit more to help speed things along. The sooner he was healed enough to move, the sooner Slade could spirit him away. It was slow going though; it had been nearly a month since Slade had installed himself as young Richard Grayson's head physician and in that time he had pumped literal litres of serum into him, but he was still in rough shape. It was a constant battle to tease at the healing injuries so that they would continue to rebuild and repair, something that simply HAD to happen. But he had an early day, it was time to sleep.

* * *

It was all there waiting for him, all he had to do was reach out and grab it, he just couldn't figure out how to do that. So far as he could tell he had no physical body, nor could he tell exactly what he was supposed to grab onto. But it was there, right _there_. Wherever _there_ was.

It tickled more insistently at his awareness, as though it were a person yelling over a loud noise; he could hear _that_ someone was talking but he couldn't distinguish what they were saying. But it was slowly drifting louder. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and the limitless potential that was promised. If only he could grab it.

* * *

It wasn't the result that Slade had hoped for. He had been working for months, pushing even his great mind and stamina to their limits and beyond. Looking like he hadn't spent the last five months doing everything he could to manipulate the boy's wounds so that the limbs would grow back and he would be as he was. But it wasn't enough. His apprentice was beyond his further aid and it galled him. Among other things, the burns had not smoothed back to flawless skin, instead the splotches spread across his back like spider-webbed cracks in a window and wrapped tendrils around his body.

Tonight would be his last visit to Wayne Manor as the good Doctor Cox, and it would be a short visit. He only had something small that needed doing.

The car dropped him at the main gate, and it slid open silently at his approach. He stepped smartly through and made the familiar trek up to the main house. It was quiet, as always. For a reputed party boy, Bruce Wayne's home was a rather somber, if extravagant, affair.

He used the heavy brass knocker to announce his arrival, not that it was needed, and had to wait only a moment or two for the massive ornate door to be opened from within by the aging Butler, allowing him admittance.

"Hello, Alfred." Dr. Cox greeted, "How is everything tonight?"

"Quite well Doctor," Alfred Responded, "How are you?"

"I'm good old boy," He replied as Alfred took his coat and hat, "I assume that Mister Wayne is tending to another of his endless errands."

"Indeed." Alfred agreed, "You'd never know from his reputation, but his work monopolizes his time to the exclusion of almost all else."

He left that alone, "I trust there has been no change in the boy's condition." It was a statement, there was _never_ any change in the boys condition.

"Right you are, sir." Alfred said, nearly failing to keep his voice professional.

"I'll go in and check on him." The Doctor responded.

He really only wanted to check on his apprentice and leave, but failing to comply with the niceties by which his and Alfred's relationship functioned would be catastrophic.

He entered the room and went straight for the boy, setting down his bag and taking the tools he needed to check him over one last time. The checkup was a lengthily procedure, taking nearly an hour to complete to his satisfaction. When he was done he leaned in close to the boy's mangled ear….

* * *

"I have not abandoned you Apprentice." A faraway voice cut through the blackness, momentarily breaking through the fog of his surroundings.

He was no longer victim to the horrible shift between light and dark, shocked and mauled at by the things that came with them. Now he was suspended in a place that was just as hard to quantify. If he had to put words to a description, the closest he could come would be to say that he was like a ghost, incapable of interacting with wherever he was. But was also nearly blind and deaf, so that the world came to him in fits and starts, like when you look up out of deep water.

"I have done all I can for you. Now it is up to you."

The voice was stronger this time, and different from the presence that still beckoned to him from time to time. But what did it want him to do?

_Master?_

The thought came unbidden and brought with it a sort of clarity, if only a very little bit. It was like he was rising slowly from the deep…


	13. Chapter 13

He stood with his eyes closed, there was nothing to see. Not yet. The world around him would only appear as a dense fog.

His Robes were black. They should have been white, but no one would notice the difference. That was one of the beautiful things about this place, if things were not as they should be, no one would notice. No one _could_ notice.

Sensation like static passed over his body and faint sounds began assailing his ears, he flexed his forearms once and felt the deadly blades spring free, returning to their protective sheaths only once he relaxed the muscles.

He opened his eyes and watched as the world began to materialize around him; it wasn't real. He knew that. But he didn't care.

The buildings were old, the architecture having gone out of date several hundred years ago, but they looked as though they had been recently constructed. A crowd of people milled about him, all in a hurry to run about whatever errands possessed them, and all too eager to ignore the man who was standing to one standing near the perimeter of the central plaza. He slipped past people dressed in decadent silk garments as easily as the homeless beggar who wore his rags and shuffled about asking for handouts; a ghost in the crowd. He didn't know who his target was and he didn't care. If he happened across him, the target would die. If not, then he wouldn't. But he was here to have fun.

He was The Master; Ezio Auditore, Mentor of the secret Brotherhood of Assassins. The citizens of Constantinople finally took note as he began to run, first with anger at being pushed aside or brushed past a little too hard, and then in fear of the Assassin who hunted in their midst. He was notorious to these people. In an instant he found a barrel sitting against a wall and leaped on to it, his momentum carried him up on to the roof in an easy motion and he was off across the rooftops. The huts were small, so he was only about ten feet above the ground but it still felt good to use his body to its full potential, the wind in his hair, his legs pounding the clay tiled roofs, easily propelling him across streets and alleys as the gaps opened before him.

He leaped straight across a street and his fingers easily found purchase and he scaled the shear face of the Grand Bazaar. The guard was unusually perceptive, calling for him to identify himself and get down even before he had properly cleared the roof.

The guard stood no chance, he'd only needed two paces to work up the momentum for another leap, this one carried him on to the man's chest, the hidden blade slid free of its sheath and he guided it with practiced ease straight into the man's neck, cutting off both his jugular and the half-formed cry in his throat. They hit the rooftop with the clatter of armour and weapons and he pulled the blade free, allowing it to return to the protective embrace of the mechanism that hugged his forearm.

He carried on like this for some time, eventually finding himself surrounded by over a dozen guards. All clad in Byzantine armour, weapons drawn and seeking blood.

There was a shaking in his shoulder and a familiar voice floated into his head but he ignored it.

He dodged and slashed, dancing around his opponents and striking with his blades, feet and fists. But he wasn't perfect and he'd taken hits, more than he should have. It was time to make good his escape, a smoke bomb distracted his attackers and he was out in open streets. There was a tower a couple blocks over that would be the perfect place to regain his anonymity.

The smoke bomb didn't distract his pursuers for very long and they were hot on his heels in moments. He was too injured to beat them in a game of speed and it took only seconds for his trained eye to spot exactly what he needed; a scaffold had been erected against the wall just a little further ahead. He swallowed his pain and called upon his body to give him just a bit more. He leaped on to the first, waist height platform of the scaffold and landed in a roll, carrying his momentum through the roll and diving out the other side.

The wooden tower was jarred by his passing and was bumped by the first of the knot of guards that were hunting him. The bump was enough to slow the guard and cause a brief pileup amidst the armoured soldiers, the pileup proved fatal as the wooden beams came down upon their heads. The guards scrambled for safety but it was a rather large and sturdy structure and came down in a heap on all but four of his pursuers. Two of which were too buried to be of any help to the other two, who were just picking themselves up after diving away.

They never even had time to turn around as his hands flashed and twin blades sprouted from their necks. There were more guards coming, just trying to work their way over the pile of recently fallen timber.

More shaking and talking echoed through his head but he ignored it as he reached for his medicine, the fragrant salts revitalizing his body and allowing him to put extra distance between himself and his pursuers. It took no time at all for him to regain the rooftops. But he was distracted by the shaking, more insistent this time, and as soon as he leaped for the side of the tower he knew that he would _just_ miss the ledge that he needed to grab.

He was out in open air when the world stopped, leaving him suspended in the void, unable to move. A feeling like static passed over his body and all sensation left him as the world began to fade away.

"Dammit, Bruce, WHAT!?" he snapped as the real world came back to him, his thoughts and perception no longer effected by the neural helmet that he wore.

"It's time to put the game away, Dick." Bruce told him, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than most folks make in a month, "The party has started and the guests have asked to see you."

"Of course they have." Dick bit out, "When was the last time any of them have seen a cripple in real life." He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care.

"You're not a cripple." Bruce told him firmly.

"Tell that to my missing arm." Dick retorted as he hoisted the remains of his right arm, a shapely stump sprouting just below his elbow. "Or better yet. Why don't we go find my legs and tell them that I'm not half a man!"

"Dick…."

"Those people aren't my friends Bruce, they don't care about me. They just want to see the freak while it's still fashionable."

"The Titans have been calling for months." Bruce reminded.

"And I've been ignoring them for months. My friends all died where I should have." He added quietly.

"Dick, I-" Bruce left it alone. He didn't know what Dick had been through while he had been missing. Dick refused to talk, and J'onn couldn't penetrate his mind. Even his own investigations hadn't yielded much more than he had just shared. Dick had been in a war, he had been found in a crater while a team was investigating a powerful explosion that took out an entire town and made a new lake beside the river there, one nearly on par with a modern nuke, less the radiation, and he felt that the Titans had grievously slighted him. What could he say to that?

"I'll deflect the guests."

"Thank you Bruce."

Dick selected another virtual life to live and retreated back into the safety and comfort of the virtual world, where he could be whole, and strong and able. He stayed there long into the night.

"Keep moving. Look at the mirror, use your eyes to see where you might falter." Is what the doctor had told him during his one and only rehab session. He was supposed to be learning to use the robotic prosthetics he had been given. It was supposed to be easy, after the integration process and the calibration it was supposed to be just like having his own limbs back. If he wanted to walk, they would walk. If he wanted to pick up a glass and take a sip, they would.

But they did not work as advertised. It took superhuman feat of concentration and will power to just do something simple, like move his leg in a controlled manner. It was like the limbs were under the control of a kid with wicked ADHD, and he had to constantly fight to make the limbs do ANYTHING. So in the end he'd decided it just wasn't worth it.

Unfortunately he had been forced to adapt to them by necessity. Some situations just warranted mobility, like now.

"Dick, you look horrible!" Lois exclaimed even before he had finished extricating himself from the seatbelt in the car.

"Nice to see you again, too, Miss Lane."

"Oh don't you 'Miss Lane' me, boy." She scolded with a smile, reaching across his body and hitting the latch for him.

"I haven't been sleeping well." He confessed soberly, answering "Strange dreams." When she prodded further.

"J'onn thinks it's my minds way of coping with everything." He told her once they had been seated at the private table that Alfred had reserved for this interview.

"So is it true that J'onn can't…."

"No, he can't." Dick told her, "And Fate isn't having any luck either."

Once they had covered the important ground, Lois receiving the same abridged version of the last time he'd been missing, the interview began; inane questions that the avid reader would want to know.

Questions about his recovery and what had happened. _Plane crash on the way to some exotic destination._

How the new prosthetics were. _Manageable._

What were they? _Advanced robotics, merged with neural interface and low-level Artificial Intelligence to translate neural impulses into physical movement._

How was he occupying his time? _Video games, books, and modelling the last one was a joke._

He answered with varying degrees of truth and earnestness and before too long, her supply of questions was exhausted. They dallied for a bit longer in the privacy given them by the corner booth of the quiet establishment before finally paying the tab and going out into the evening. The interview was over, but Perry White had been very specific when he'd told her to spend time with him, _see_ how he was faring and what he was doing. She noticed him stumble several times but manage to right himself fairly quickly, except for one time where she was forced to catch him as they stepped out to cross a street.

"They're top of the line." Dick said about the prosthetics, "about as close to having my own limbs back as I can hope for. Or so they say. But they're not perfect. They're sluggish, and hard to catch myself. I feel like I'm just blindly stabbing my feet at the ground and hoping for the best. I have pretty decent control over the limbs, almost like a real one," He balanced on one leg and lifted the other one up, bending it several times, flexing the ankle and even rotating it," but the lack of feeling is hard to adjust to. If I don't keep a sharp eye out and miss a step, or take one that isn't there, I usually end up falling flat on my face. They're just not quick enough to react to things like that."

After a while longer, as they were passing in front of a condemned apartment building they heard the shattering of glass, and a shrill scream. It took Dick only a second to find the source of the screams, and a second more to note the orange glow of flames and the billowing smoke behind her. He had no idea why this small child was in an abandoned building, or why it was burning.

"Call 911." He told Lois before he took off for the door to the building. He was quick, but not as quick as he should have been.

Entering the building had been rather easy, the city relying more on signs than real barricades to prevent entry, and made his way for the stairs. Climbing was awkward but manageable, and he was soon forced to take his shirt off and hold it over his mouth, eventually going by the feel of his remaining hand as he tried to get to the trapped girl through the thick, choking smoke. It was hot, but not unbearably so. When he got to the right door he threw it open and rushed through, his ears easily leading him to the screaming, choking child even as his eyes welled with tears and stung from the acrid smoke. He stumbled against the walls, his foot sinking through the creaking floor in a heart stopping moment of panic before he righted himself and moved on. The flames were everywhere, a towering inferno that scaled the walls and spilled across the ceiling. He didn't waste a second to consider how the heat was not nearly as unbearable as it should have been.

When he got to the right door, it pushed open with almost no effort. A sensation like ice danced across his skin and his shirt caught fire so he took it away from his face and threw it down as he went to the girl. She screamed at his approach but he couldn't comfort her, his throat was raw from choking on the smoke and the spasms sent him on to his face. Suddenly the prosthetics were slower than normal to react, and harder to control.

Lois was frantic. Count on Clark to be out of reach at a moment like this, and she didn't know how to get ahold of anyone else, even the Batman.

It was painstaking, waiting for the firefighters to arrive, though they made impressive time. She pointed out the window and within moments of arriving the ladder was moving into position to rescue the suddenly screaming girl. She turned to the scene commander and frantically told him that someone had run in to try save the girl, but that had been just before she'd called in. He was about to give more orders when his eyes grew wide as they fixated on the window.

Lois turned to see a nightmare handing the frantic girl to the fireman. She understood intellectually that it _had_ to be Dick, but he was so badly burnt. His hair, barely regrown, was gone and part of his face was wilted red and black. His lips had charred and bared his teeth and gums. The poor girl was hysterical in her attempts to escape from Dick.

The firefighter went back for him but the window collapsed and when he tried to pull him out, Dick didn't even budge as his arm simply came off.

The scene commander was screaming at someone, and the firefighter tried to readjust the ladder and suddenly he was screaming too as someone on the ground overrode his controls and pulled it away.

She watched in horror as Dick tumbled out of the building. A moment later the towering inferno was raging all the hotter as the floors gave way and the windows either melted or shattered, allowing more of the life-giving oxygen to feed the flames. Minutes later, the building collapsed.

It was a strange blur, watching the paramedics work on Dick. He was still alive and in pain, if his continued moans were any indication; long and drawn out, screams dulled by burnt up vocal cords. But somehow he had survived, the warped and still somewhat liquid state of his prosthetic limbs lending extra credence to the rage of the inferno that had failed to kill him. Thank God for Shell-Shock; she could deal with all of this later.

He grabbed the little girl and suddenly his situation came crashing back to him. He understood that he should be dead, but was somehow still moving, though he didn't think that would be true much longer. His plan instantly formed. He would grab the girl and jump out the window, using his body to cushion her fall, it was only three stories, she probably wouldn't even get hurt too badly from the fall. He grabbed the girl and struggled to his feet, the robotics seeming to fight him the whole way. He staggered toward the window, but ended up falling against it as his left leg suddenly gave out all together, the straps that held it to his stump letting go.

When he righted himself he was greeted by the figure of a firefighter, approaching on the hydraulic ladder that was mounted on the truck. He couldn't make out any sounds, and the world seemed strangely dim, though he noticed the terror in the man's eyes as he handed the girl out to him. The man turned to pass the girl down to another firefighter and then reached back to Dick, grabbing both of his hands. It was at this moment that his right leg gave out beneath him, sending him down. The firefighter had his prosthetic arm, while his real one clung to the window sill, trying to pull himself up as the strength seeped from his limb.

Would this be it? Would he finally die? He should be dead already, would he finally give up and just let go?

Before he could decide, the windowsill disintegrated. The firefighter tugged harder on his prosthetic arm, easily snapping the weakened straps. The man tumbled back a step, and Dick was left balancing on nothing, peering out at what little of the world he could still see. He thought it odd, how he could be in a raging inferno, but have his body assailed by sensations of icy numbness.

Was this the end? Was this how he would die?

The firefighter righted himself on the ladder and moved it closer, but something happened and suddenly he was gesturing wildly and the ladder was moving itself away. Man and ladder quickly faded from sight.

His strength failed and he succumbed to gravity, becoming suddenly weightless as he tumbled forward. He could no longer see, and could not remember, or tell if or when he had last drawn a breath.

Was this the end?

* * *

**A/N: **I know this was a long time coming, though not as long as the last one, so I AM improving somewhat. I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter, something about the execution just doesn't feel right to me. I think that I would have liked it to be longer, possibly have 2 chapters where Raziel has to deal with his injuries and trying to adjust to his new situation, but I just don't think I have the chops for it so I'm settling with this. Any way that'll be enough of me feeling sorry for myself.

Thanks for reading, and for your continued support :)

I'll continue to hammer out the flaws in the next update and hopefully it'll be better. And posted sooner. I really hope I can post sooner.


	14. Chapter 14

He didn't know exactly when he'd come around, but now that he had things were all jumbled and confused. He could swear that he had been burned to death in a horrible fire, in Gotham; a final end after a life of struggle and misery. But everyone here tells him that he's been here for as long as some of the other slaves. Training in the Ludus. To fight for glory in the Arena.

He's struck in the chest, sent flying by a shield bash.

"Excellent strike, Mallus." Doctore, called, "Raziel, you will never be champion if you are continually distracted while fighting. Focus!"

"Doctore, you waste your breath." One of the other gladiators, the current Champion of Capua, Crixus called, "The way he keeps his head in the clouds, he doesn't deserve the glory."

The rest of them cheered at the sentiment.

"Big words Crixus!" he found himself shouting, his anger piqued, "I'll show you what I can do! Any time, anywhere."

"No." the larger man simply stated, "I am Champion. You must _earn _the right to challenge me."

He stepped forward, intent on showing the Gaul exactly who he was dealing with. But Doctore put a stop to that, his ever-present whip gripping his throat and yanking him back onto his ass.

"Enough!" He yells, "Back to sparring. All of you!"

So he picks up his shield and his weighted training sword and turns to face his opponent.

He is no longer sure exactly how long he has been here. Maybe he has always been training in this Ludus? The image he held on to; one of a city, reaching for the sky, with towers of glass and horseless chariots and metal birds. A world where the Gods walked among men, descended from their home amidst the stars to intervene on behalf of the beleaguered mortals… Maybe it was just a fever dream. A hallucination brought about by an infection or illness?

He shook the thoughts from his head and stared over his knees and across the great chasm. This Ludus, House Batiatus, was built generations ago on the very edge of a cliff. So that only three walls were needed to keep the slaves and Gladiators from escaping. Three walls and a vast open nothingness; a drop so far that he couldn't even comprehend such a vertical distance, nor conceive of a way to measure it.

He knew, too, that he shouldn't be out here at this hour, Dawn was only a few short hours away and tomorrows training would begin with no further thought to his recent victory. He was no Champion of the Games, nor even a true Gladiator. But he was given reward all the same; for a performance that Dominos said was inspiring. His blood lust and brutality had been a thing of beauty, and so he was rewarded with a thing of beauty; for a single night.

He would like to think that he had conducted himself as a man; made love to the delicate flower that Dominos had sent to him. But in reality their coupling had been more about animal passion; fulfilment of desires and pent up lusts finally allowed release.

"Raziel." He breathed deeply of the chill night air, allowing a content sigh to escape his lips. His name sounded so sweet when it slipped between her lips.

"You should be in bed." He told her without looking back, "The sun will rise soon and your duties will resume within the Villa."

"As will yours in the arena." She told him, sitting down beside him and leaning against his arm.

"True enough."

They watched the stars for several moments, allowing the majesty of the starry sky to envelop them as it lit the vast chasm below.

"What happened today?" She finally asked, "I have seen you in training, and I have been here long enough to know that things like that don't just come from nowhere. It was like the Gods had granted you favor to carry out their Vengeance against the heretics."

_He had been standing behind the heavy bars, waiting for them to rise and allow him and the others entrance to the arena, where they would execute the prisoners that stood there. Well, they would execute them if their recent training had amounted to anything. The prisoners were armed with swords and shields, and each of them had the bearing of a man who knew the value of his own life, and knew exactly how many he would kill in mortal combat to preserve it. Their charges were read, a string of horrible murders, tortures and ritual sacrifices to some Demon-God, but what caught Raziel's attention, was the disgusted chatter of the guards that kept them from fleeing back into the tunnels that could eventually lead to freedom._

_How they had tortured children in front of parents. Parents in front of children. Younger sisters used before the horrified eyes of elder brothers…._

_The guards continued to converse quietly and deep down, something within him snapped. He threw his sword through the bars and then began to climb, leaping nimbly from the bars, to the wall and back again, grasping the heavy iron near the top of the twelve foot high cage. It took only a moment to force himself through the slightly wider opening and then he was through and falling to the ground. He hit feet first and ducked into a roll, coming up with his sword grasped in his right hand._

_No one noticed him for several seconds; the guards were too stunned to react, as were the other slaves, and the audience and officials were more focused on the criminals in the center, some hundred-and-fifty feet away from him. He closed the distance quickly and struck the first one a maiming blow to his sword arm. The crowd's confusion quickly turned to cheers and applause as he spun around and hamstrung the same man. He stabbed another man in the chest, piercing his left lung and laying him low. Then the other condemned took note of him and began to fight._

_He pulled his sword free in time to block and strike that would have found his unprotected back, the other man was strong and he staggered back, tripping on one of his previous kills, but recovering neatly with a roll and coming up just inside the effective range of another who had swung for his head. His sword came up in a flash and the man was no more, his lifeblood flowing freely from a wound that began near his navel and ended at his shoulder._

_Things became very hectic after that. There were a dozen men still, all well trained and pressing tightly about him. He dodged and struck furiously, lashing out with sword, fist and foot. He was vaguely aware that the arena had gone deathly quiet, and at one point, he caught a glimpse of the other slaves, come to help him but standing in slack-jawed amazement. The pommel of a sword had caught him on the back but he rolled with the blow and landed a hard right across the jaw of the man nearest to him, sending him reeling and buying himself a small opening. With the man down the others had not yet closed the gap he'd left and Raziel struck with vengeance; Skewering the unprotected flank of one man and then pulling free and biting his sword into the unprotected leg of another, reversing again and neatly separating his head from his body as he fell._

_After a few more moments of furious fighting he stood with heaving chest as his head whipped back and forth between his two remaining opponents. They circled slowly now, wary of him; looking for an opening. He had picked up a second sword somewhere and both came into play as they rushed him. They spun, blades flashed and a horrid cacophony sang from their little melee until one sword found soft flesh followed a moment later by his other sword. Unfortunately both swords were buried in the same opponent, and quite stuck. He abandoned them without a seconds hesitation and rolled away just in time for his one remaining opponent to decapitate his friend. The man screamed and charged, Raziel threw himself sideways into a dive but the man was on him in an instant, abandoning his sword in favor of getting a grip on the elusive and unarmed Raziel. _

_The crowds cheering had almost resurged before strangling itself again and Raziel and the other man grappled furiously. Fighting for position as they struck blindly into any flesh they could, each hoping to kill the other man and preserve his own life. Eventually Raziel got a hold of the man's wrist and clung desperately and he twisted for leverage, wrapping both legs around the man's arm and planting his feet against the man's chest. He pulled hard, arching his back and fighting against the man as he tried desperately to keep his arm from straightening out. Raziel kept at it and was eventually rewarded with an audible snap and a blood curdling scream and the man's arm bent entirely the wrong way. After that, the fight went out of him and it was a simple matter to finish off the last cult member._

"I don't know," He answered after a moment, "I was entirely myself, but… I don't know. It was like I had stepped back and allowed my desires have control of my body. Allowed my true self to come out…."

Things had gone straight to hell after the new kid's first appearance in the Arena. His fire was gone. Just… gone. So he had been forced to send him to The Pit. Lucretia had raised hell, invoking his honour and the name of his noble father, but he had to do what he had to do. The Pit wasn't the most respectable place to enter his fighter, but it was his last chance to turn a profit on this waste of life.

The wooden bowl landed by his head, slopping the gruel onto the sandy floor and he attacked it even before it had settled, his aching body responding to the sudden movement with more of the same; not used to much movement after being folded into this tiny kennel for so long.

"Ahh, there he is." Batiatus exclaimed as he approached the tiny cage, "Are you ready for your last chance?"

"…What?" he asked as he tried to crawl out of the now open cage, only to collapse on the sand without ever even moving his legs. He relished in the feeling of his body finally being allowed to stretch to its full length. It was glorious.

"Your last chance." Barca reiterated, "You will fight today. To the death, here in the Pit. It's your last chance not to die."

"…When?"

"Later. For now eat." Barca dropped a stale bun by his head and laughed when he attacked it, hardly even tasting it in his rush to eat something more substantial than the watery gruel.

He laid there for a long time after he'd eaten, the usual sounds of the pit seeming to fade into the glory that was the sensation of not being stuffed into that damn tiny cage.

"Get up." Barca woke him with a kick. "You fight soon."

"And you better not fuck it up." Batiatus told him, "I've got a lot of damn money riding on you to win you little fuck."

The fights were hellish. His opponents were no longer men, maybe he wasn't either. Animals tearing each other apart.

No rules.

One winner.

One dead.

Fate decided your weapon.

He killed every opponent they set him against, until Dominos decided he had his fire back. Then they brought his back to the Ludus. Where he trained, and fought, and became Champion of Capua. Celebrated above all others as a God of the Arena.

Until a challenger came. He fought with everything he had, but his opponent was younger. Faster. Stronger. It was a close thing, he'd nearly won, but in the end it he who lay on the ground. Disarmed and with the razor point of a gladius pressing into his neck. The signal was given and the point pressed a little close. Fire seared his neck as the wound grew. Breathing became impossible.

His head grew fuzzy.

The world faded away.

He woke with a start, drawing in a breath of slightly smoky air that tickled his throat.

"Ahh," Said a kind voice, "You are awake."

He lifted his head and stretched the stiffness from his back.

"Who are you?"

"I gave up my name long ago, young one." The man said, "Buy I was once referred to as 'Mentor' by my students."

He looked at the man. His eyes penetrating the dim and flickering light of the single candle that adorned the table between them. He exuded an air of diminished majesty, like he had once been able to shake the heavens. But the signs of age were present as well.

He seemed familiar somehow, like he should be an old friend, or perhaps a beloved teacher from his youth.

"I know you." He decided finally.

"You may recognise my presence." The Mentor finally answered, "Last time you stepped too close to the brink I attempted to contact you, but you were not educated in the arcane."

"You were the presence in the darkness. You wanted to give me something, or for me to take something." He answered, recalling back to the time between fighting in the war and waking up in a private clinic just outside of Gotham.

"I was indeed. And I did." The Mentor allowed, "but you were not yet ready."

"Am I ready now?"

"No. But now that I have reached you, now that you have allowed me to make contact, it will be easier to do again. And I can help you become ready."

"Ready for what?"

"I need help child. The world is in grave danger, and in times of greatest peril, I am reincarnated in order to preserve existence. Only you are not ready. And I cannot be reincarnated until you are, or all is lost."

"What's coming?"

"The Gods."

* * *

A/N: Another chapter done. Hope you like it, cuz I'm basically flying blind with this now. Just writing whatever tickles my fancy. I'm hoping it will all be held together by some shred of plot, but if that isn't the case, I hope it's at least entertaining.

Until next time.


End file.
